Transformers: Vapour Trails
by Violetlight
Summary: Movieverse. With the Allspark destroyed, the universe has become a dangerous place for female Transformers. Can Nightbird keep her independence, and still serve the Decepticon cause? Ch. 5 - Teenage angst from Sam, and Barricade loses his temper.
1. Ch 1 Famous Last Words

**Transformers: Vapour Trails**

By Violetlight

Disclaimer: Transformers ultimately belongs to Hasbro, with the movie universe this fic is based in being claimed by Paramount, Dreamworks, and probably a few other companies I can't remember at the moment. Oh well. Anyway, I'll make no money, this fic's writen for my own amusement etc.

Author's Note: Thanks to Lady Tecuma, Litahatchee and Hearts of Eternity for your insights, your ideas on Transformers, and, above all, your friendship. Everyone who reads this story should also check out their Transformers fics!

Extended Author's Note: Some of my previous readers may remember that the femme featured in this story used to be named "Nightshade". I originally came up with the idea for her when I didn't know of **any** female Decepticons, and I wanted to change that. Stealth Fighters were my favourite military jets, and there was one featured, briefly, at the beginning of the first Transformers movie, so I figured, why not take the opportunity to create a female Decepticon, one that was capable, intelligent, everything you'd want a good villain to be.

Unfortuately, I learned of something in the fan fiction community called a "Mary Sue". A very annoying character-type to say the least. Even more unfortuately, I learned over the years of the tendency of **any** original female characters to be regarded as Mary Sues by passing readers, no matter how well written they may or may not be. If an OC, especially a female OC, is featured, there's a tendency to just pass the story by. It's a real shame for people who do take the time and effort to create engaging original characters, but that's the way the internet works. Don't try to tell me this isn't the case; I have to admit, I've been guilty of passing by potential "Mary Sue" fics myself.

So, I'm renaming Nightshade to Nightbird, after the closest thing there was to a female Decepticon in the original 1980s Transformers cartoon (look up the Season 2 episode, "Enter the Nightbird" on Youtube if you've never heard of her). After a little research, I found I could keep my character pretty much the way she was, with a few differences which will be elaborated upon over the course of the story. After all, it's nothing Hasbro doesn't do themselves, using G1 names on later characters that may be quite differrent. For example, my Nightbird's love for insectoid symbiote Decepticons - Waspinator, here in the first chapter - can homage back to how Bombshell helped reprogram G1 Nightbird into a Decepticon in the first place. I think, with a little creativity, I can have an engaging female Decepticon, without her being immediately dismissed as an OC Sue. Which is what I wanted to do in the first place as a writer. Besides, it's about time Nightbird was given some sort of personality.

I am, of course, always open to suggestions as to better incorporate my character with her G1 "ancestor". Please, feel free to tell me if something seems too OOC, but remember that this is **not** G1 Nightbird. She's not a human-made experiemental "ninjabot", she's a Decepticon, a true Cybertronian, and will behave as such.

For those of you first reading this story, thank you for giving me the time of day. For those of you who read back when Nightbird was Nightshade, thank you for givng me a chance, and I hope the change isn't too jarring.

Now, as the Tragically Hip once said, throw away your rudders, and float away on Vapour Trails!

* * *

Chapter 1: Famous Last Words

_You have failed me yet again, Starscream._

Starscream spiraled in the air, as if the twisting of his frame could shake loose the reprimand echoing through his processors. _Failed? FAILED? When it was I who never let our people give up, never surrender to the Autobots? I spent the last million-odd vorns searching for the Allspark AND your miserable frozen carcass, no matter what fools like Blackout would like to think, and this is how you repay me, by saying __I__ failed? _He laughed bitterly as he climbed out of Earth's atmosphere, his borrowed jets transforming to space-capable Cybertronian hyperjets without changing the rest of his form. _Failure my sine functions._

Failure was what happened _after_ the return of their "great Leader". Not only was the Allspark destroyed, but all the members of his team were now either dead or missing. Blackout, Bonecrusher and Brawl were smashed to pieces under the metal fists and plasma cannons of the Autobots, as well as the primitive weapons of their new favourite pets. As for Barricade, Frenzy and Scorponok, he had heard nothing from the bad-tempered "cop", the hyper little hacker or the useless bug since before Mission City. Finally, what had happened to his so-called Leader, the great and mighty Megatron?

_Deader than a stomped glitchmouse, that's what!_ While Starscream was not exactly upset with this turn of events, he reluctantly admitted that not all Decepticons shared his enlightened viewpoint. An uncomfortably large percentage of his people had been craving their lost Leader's return, and that would be a problem, but a problem he was determined to solve.

* * *

Even at the incredibly high speeds Starscream was capable of without reverting to his protoform, it still took cycles to fly to the next furthest planet from the system's sun. As he thickened his belly armour, preparing for the heat of reentry, he remembered the planet's name, trivia from some otherwise long-forgotten mission briefing: Mars, named after an ancient human god of war, the crimson colour of the planet reminding the organics of their own spilt bodily fluids – what were they called again? He remembered: blood.

_When I return, __I will personally ensure that your planet drowns in the blood you once imagined covered this one, and before the last of you go extinct, you disgusting little savages, you will fear a new God of War. Starscream!_

* * *

Compared to the thick nitrogen/oxygen atmosphere of Earth, the thin carbon-dioxide skies of Mars provided less lift, requiring more energy from Starscream's engines to keep him aloft, but he preferred that to dodging missiles. He had made this planet his base of operations in his search for the Allspark on its sister world and had began to think of its desolate, rusted landscape as his own. One feature he especially liked was the giant canyon system the humans called the Valles Marineris, which stretched across an entire hemisphere of the planet. The labyrinth of cracks and crevasses dispersed through the unforgiving red rock was an aerial playground to the Seeker.

Usually he enjoyed the flight through the fissures to where the _Nemesis_ was waiting near the centre of the partially tectonic, partially water-carved system, but not this time. Instead of skillfully maneuvering through the chasms he impatiently raced above them, then nose-dived violently downwards to the ship, transforming mere mechanometers from the surface, the crimson ground quaking as he slammed into it feet and one hand first. He reared up, to see the cold red optics of the _Nemesis_' caretaker, his main Intelligence agent and human cultural researcher, staring harshly at him.

"What in the Pit happened?" she demanded.

Starscream growled in irritation. "How like you, Nightbird. No concern for my well-being after an orbit hop."

He eyed the black, strangely angular-armoured Decepticon femme. Her arms were crossed in front of her, but her thin, triangular battle visor was retracted (for once), as was the protective collar which slid up over her neck and the lower half of her face in times of war. He saw no sign of the deadly rapier and smaller blaster-blade that were the spy's primary weapons, but that annoying metal insect she called a pet, Waspinator, was perched on her left shoulder, staring at Starscream with the same kind of simple-minded intensity he saw as characteristic of all Decepticon symbiotes.

As if determined to prove his stupidity, Waspinator left his perch and hovered over Starscream's head, buzzing annoyingly. Starscream growled and swatted at the insectoid.

"Leave him alone, Starscream. He's just worried about you; Primus only knows why." Nightbird complained as she recalled her partner.

"I'm flattered," Starscream said sarcastically. He started to stalk back towards the ship, but Nightbird was not a femme who just _let_ anyone walk away from her. Not when she wanted answers.

"Blackout stopped transmitting cycles ago. What went on down there? Where are the others?" She paused, and glared at him accusingly. "Where is my mate?"

"Megatron's dead," Starscream said bluntly, unapologetic, waiting for the leaking optic fluid he expected usually followed telling femmes of their Sparkmates' demises.

Her optics narrowed, but she did not cry. She turned away from him, but did not collapse in shock like Starscream half-expected. She did make a noise, but one so unexpected it took his CPU a few astroseconds to comprehend what he was hearing.

Nightbird was laughing. It was a disbelieving, sarcastic kind of laugh, but laughter nonetheless.

"Megatron dead? For Primus' sake, I thought you'd come up with something a bit more creative than that!"

"It's true!"

"Yeah, right. Whatever! This coming from you, of all mechs. What's wrong, Screamer? Your usual lines not working anymore?" she snickered, then whined in a very irritating high pitch "Megatron has fallen! I'm the Leader now! Everybody follow me!"

Infuriated, Starscream grabbed Nightbird by the throat and slammed her up against the nearest canyon wall, lifting her off her feet, with Waspinator sent flying off his mistress's shoulder.

"First of all, I don't sound like that –"

"Yes you do."

Nightbird was large for a femme, almost Seeker-sized, but still smaller than the massive Air Commander. Despite this obvious difference in size and strength, her optics held no fear, especially as she kicked Starscream right below his cockpit, squirming out of his grasp as the sudden pain loosened his grip. Before she could summon her swords, Starscream's jets fired and he backflipped up and over her, landing in front of her. He pounced on her, pinning her to the ground.

"Second," he hissed menacingly, locking optics with her, then promptly forgot what he was going to say as she stared up at him defiantly. He felt her struggling body prone beneath him, her chest plating up against his. Even through their armour, he could feel her Spark flickering wildly in her chest, his own doing the same ... with desire. He smiled evilly and lowered his mouthplate to hers …

Just as an incredibly loud and annoying buzzing filled his audio receptors. Waspinator shot his stinger lasers at his head and shoulders, more an annoyance than a real threat, but enough to distract him as Nightbird slid out from underneath him, got to her feet, and delivered a resolute kick right in the Seeker's face.

"Don't. You. EVER touch me again!"

Starscream got up, rubbing the side of his face. "The Allspark is gone and your mate is not coming back," his rage was replaced with smugness over their new situation, the delicious irony! Since Megatron had claimed her all those vorns ago, no other mech had dared even think of taking Nightbird, but now things were different - so delightfully different! "Why not become my sparkmate instead?"

"Frag you!" It was not an unexpected response.

"It's now your duty as a femme to continue our species," he reminded her coolly as he slid up next to her, but was careful not to touch her, "and who better for you to do that with than your new Leader? I _know_ you have a thing for … power."

"Idiot! I hope Megatron kicks your aft from here to Cybertron for that thought even crossing your CPU!" She started to stalk away, and then stopped suddenly. Without turning around, she asked, "You're not lying this time, are you?"

Starscream could not help but grin a self-satisfied smirk. "I told you I wasn't."

"Megatron's really…?"

"Yes."

"Tell me everything."

* * *

"…and then that brat shoved the Allspark into his Spark instead, killing Megatron and destroying the Allspark at once." Starscream finished as his holoemitter shut down. They had returned to the bridge of the _Nemesis_, Starscream sitting in his command chair, Nightbird in the chair to his right, where his lieutenant would usually sit, instead of her usual spot at the communications console.

For a few breems Nightbird was silent, absently scratching Waspinator behind his antennae as the horrible images replayed over and over in her processors. Megatron standing over the twisted, beaten body of his Autobot brother, then the missiles from the human jets tearing into him, shredding his armour, the human child ignoring Optimus Prime's suicidal orders and sticking that fateful cube into her mate's exposed Spark instead …

His optics glowing fiery red in hatred, right before they faded to nothingness.

"Megatron…"

"I'm sorry, Nightbird."

She rolled her optics. "We are so fragged …"

"I don't see it as being fragged. Think of it as an opportunity." Nightbird knew that tone: Starscream was getting ready for one of his infamous rants. "Now that we're not distracted with finding that frozen tyrant, we Decepticons can actually focus on winning the war…"

She half-listened to him rant on, still petting Waspinator and adding in the occasional, "I see" or "oh, really", distracted by her own thoughts, but when he got to the inevitable part of the rant praising his own supposed superiority, Nightbird could take no more.

"Starscream."

"Not now. As I was saying, with _my_ leadership ..."

"Starscream, has it occurred to you that not everyone will automatically accept your leadership?"

"What are you talking about, femme?"

She turned in her seat to face Starscream directly. "A lot of Decepticons followed you only because you were Megatron's appointed Second. Assuming – and this is a big assumption – that this isn't one of your tricks and Megatron really is dead, most of your support just evaporated."

"How many times do I have to tell you …" he stopped. "Frag it, I hate it when you're right."

"Then you know what you'll have to do?"

Starscream nodded. "I'll have to prove myself in a Leadership Battle." Decepticon law in this matter was as old as their people and not even Megatron had dared to disobey that precedent. "Shockwave's going to give me trouble, isn't he?"

"With Megatron gone, he'll find it 'only logical'. I have a feeling he's been planning your 'removal' since Megatron first went missing."

"And that coward's going to lead me on a turbofox chase, I know it," His frustration evident, Starscream's claws dug deep into the arm of his chair. "Not to mention I still have unfinished business on Earth. Barricade and the others might still be alive, and the Autobots are still down there."

"Let me take care of that." Nightbird got up, and slinked over to him. "You have more important things to worry about now, my Leader," she smiled alluringly.

Starscream narrowed his optics. "Why are you so supportive, all of a sudden?"

"For several reasons: First, Megatron did appoint you as not only his Air Commander, but as the second-in-command of all his forces, and he wouldn't have appointed anyone to that role he didn't think was capable of it. Second, you have led us for the entire time Megatron's been missing, and you haven't done that bad a job of it. Third," she paused, and chose her next words carefully. "Shockwave's a cold, Sparkless bastard. I would _prefer_ to have Megatron back, but I'd rather serve you over him any day."

"Aw, I'm touched. You like me after all."

"If you call preferring you over a lens-headed, glorified calculator liking you, then sure. Whatever. Just remember that Shockwave has no doubt gathered his own followers by now. If you intend on surviving on Cybertron for long, you will have to do the same."

"I know that, I'm not an idiot!" Starscream snapped.

"Could have fooled me," Nightbird mumbled to herself.

If Starscream had heard, he ignored her. "Skywarp and Thundercracker should be on Cybertron by now, or at least nearby …"

"That's a good start, but I had someone else in mind."

"Who?"

"Soundwave."

"Are your circuits fried?" Nobody's more loyal to Megatron than that …" he started to say something insulting, then remembered that doing so in front of the femme Soundwave had personally trained was probably not the best idea he ever had. "…mech," he settled. "What makes you think he won't shoot me on sight?"

"You just answered your own question. Soundwave won't kill you immediately _because_ you're Megatron's Second, if for no other reason. When he finds you, and knowing my Master, he _will _find you first, you had better be able to convince him that you're a better choice for Leader than Shockwave."

"Won't the word of his _dear_ little student be enough?" Starscream asked sarcastically, "or is there another reason you're so adamant on getting him back?"

Nightbird smiled coyly. "Wouldn't you like to know?"

"You little tease," ignoring her earlier warning, he wrapped his arms around her. "You know, we could have a little fun before my trip."

To Starscream's surprise and delight, Nightbird leaned closer, pressing her mouthplate enticingly close to his audio sensors. "Stop thinking with your Spark, Screamer," she whispered, before pulling away from him teasingly. "If you want me to help you, then you'll find Soundwave and you'll convince him to join our side."

"Oh, I want you, don't worry."

"So you'll find him then?"

"Yes! Fine! Any more requests?"

"I'll let you know if I think of any," she started walking towards the airlock, Waspinator buzzing obediently after her. "Are you coming, or what?"

"Coming where?"

"If you want to spend the next few vorns flying back to Cybertron yourself, that's your business, but I know a shortcut."

Had the "lens-headed bastard" actually finished it? Starscream chased after Nightbird and exited the ship just as she transformed into her alt mode, an F-117 Nighthawk stealth fighter. "When'd you pick that up?" he asked, somewhat impressed. Like the F-22 Raptor he had chosen, it was the closest thing on Earth to Nightbird's Cybertronian form, and he had to admit, the oddly shaped but strangely beautiful plane suited her perfectly.

"On my last field mission, remember? I scouted out the Qatar base before Blackout … took care of it."

Ah yes. Starscream remembered Blackout reporting that he saw her taking off just as he was coming into the base. _Next time, I'll let Nightbird do the data extraction herself; she probably would have made less of a mess of it_, he thought as the Stealth took off into the dusty pink Martian skies, the Raptor following an astrosecond later.

* * *

After a short flight, the two jets landed at the summit of one of Mars' extinct volcanoes, located only about a hundred megamiles north of the canyons. Built into the sides of the crater and cleverly hidden with holograms, like the _Nemesis _itself, from the prying cameras of the humans' Mars Global Surveyor satellite, were the ring-shaped walls of something that up until this point Starscream had only seen in his old theoretical physics texts from long before the war.

"So this is a spacebridge," he said as he transformed. "I thought it would be flashier." He would never admit it to Nightbird, of course, or anyone else, but the tiny part of his Spark that still pulsed like a scientist's was intrigued.

"I don't care what it looks like, as long as it works." Nightbird transformed as well, with a small "bomb" under her wing transforming into Waspinator. "If it does, it'll definitely be better than taking the _Nemesis_ through transwarp, especially with our energon reserves as low as they are."

"You mean you want me to go through this thing and it hasn't even been tested?" Starscream shrieked.

"Of course it's been tested! Shockwave sent one of his drones through just a few orns ago. It turned inside out, but it still came through."

"I'm not getting in anything that's going to scramble my circuits across the universe." Starscream said stubbornly as he examined the control console next to the crater's rim. "Get that idiot on the comm. and tell him to send another drone."

"Oh, there's a great idea – announce to your rival that you're coming! I take back what I said earlier; Primus only knows how you managed to stay in charge for so long!"

"I'm not going through it until it's tested." Starscream repeated. "Figures there aren't any Autobots around when you need them. I wouldn't mind seeing that little yellow vermin-loving pain in the aft get torn apart atom by atom."

"That would be fun, but I'd rather send you through in one piece … for now. I'll see if I can contact anyone besides Shockwave on the other side, but it might take a few breens." Her visor slid down over her optics as she connected with the computers in the console, scanning the other end of the feed for a friendly, or at least a won't-shoot-Starscream-on-sight, signature.

Starscream watched her work impatiently. He did not know how she could concentrate with her annoying symbiote hovering over her shoulder like that … that's right. Waspinator.

With a malevolent smile, Starscream grabbed the buzzing insectoid by his stinger and casually tossed him into the middle of the ring. He just as casually pressed the biggest button on the console, right under where the preoccupied femme was looking.

"Happy trails, warrior."

"Starscream, what the Pit? … Waspinator!" Nightbird screamed as a whirlpool-like portal opened up over the ring, sucking red dust and a panicking metallic wasp into its vortex.

"What do you know? I found a guinea-bot after all," Starscream remarked, before feeling something long, thin, and sharp up against his neck.

"You Unicron-spawned son of a glitch!" Nightbird pressed her rapier dangerously close to one of Starscream's coolant lines. "You better pray to Primus that Waspinator's still functioning!"

"You were going to throw _me_ in there."

"That's different! I _like_ Waspin…" she was interrupted by the sound of confused buzzing from the console's speakers. Forgetting the Seeker, she quickly activated the viewscreen, which showed the puzzled-looking bug-bot safely on the other side of the bridge. "Waspinator! Are you okay?"

"See, he's fine."

"Just shut up and send him back as soon as you get there."

"It's not like I want to be stuck with the little pest anyway." Starscream complained. "While I'm on Cybertron, go to Earth and find the others, then all of you return to Mars."

"What about the Autobots?"

"What about them? Let them play with their new pets if they want, I don't care."

"It would be a mistake to ignore them."

"I'm not. We'll worry about them after I'm officially Leader. Don't engage them on your own, that's an order!"

"Alright, fine. I won't," Nightbird resigned. "Are you going or what?"

"Almost," without warning, Starscream pulled Nightbird close and pressed his mouthplate forcefully against hers, electricity crackling between them with the kiss. After what seemed like far too long for Nightbird, he pulled away. "So Megatron did save the best for himself."

Nightbird forced herself to smile. "You had better get going, my Leader."

"I love it when you call me that," Starscream smiled wickedly as he stepped into the spacebridge. "_Later_" she barely heard him promise, as the vortex reopened.

As the interstellar gateway closed, Nightbird turned away from the console and looked towards the Martian skies, not even turning when she heard the spacebridge activate again, Waspinator soon taking his familiar perch on her shoulders. He buzzed an inquiry.

"Yes, Waspinator, we'll be going soon," Nightbird answered him and absently wiped her mouthplate with the back of her wrist.

She closed her optics, and in her processor still saw those fiery red optics, defiant and proud to the last, just as a true Decepticon should be. She would not let him down.

With a familiar five-tone melody, the Decepticon femme and her symbiote transformed.


	2. Ch 2 I'm Still Here

**Transformers: Vapour Trails**

By Violetlight

Author's Note: Updated edition. Thanks to the Good Idea Writing Club for your critiques.

Thanks also to Gelendra, for her advice on Starscream's personality.

* * *

Chapter 2: I'm Still Here

_Stay here, Scorponok._

Those had been the last words the arachnid-shaped symbiote had heard from his partner, a simple order to stay in the desert wilderness while the giant helicopter mech went to help the Leader. The Leader was back, and that had made Blackout happy, and when Blackout was happy, Scorponok was happy. Scorponok had obeyed, as he always did, and waited patiently, buried beneath the Nevada sand, for his partner to return.

He waited as the cycles dragged on, as this strange planet's sun sank beneath the horizon and as unfamiliar constellations filled the night sky. Even though a dull ache in his Spark suggested something that Scorponok did not, would not consider, still he waited. Blackout had said to stay.

He did not move even when he heard jet engines roar overhead, followed quickly by the Transformation Song. Blackout had said to stay. He did not move when he heard something buzz as it hovered over his position. Blackout had said to stay. He did not move even when two arms gently pulled him out of the sand or when those arms cradled him to their owner's chassis. Even within that warm, comforting embrace, Scorponok did not move. Blackout had said to stay.

A soft, Cybertronian melody filled his audios, a calming, familiar sound in this strange, alien world. As he was held, as the Singer continued her soothing song, the ache in his Spark started to subside. As the lullaby continued, his optics blinked once, twice. He slowly drifted offline, but still, he did not move.

Blackout had said to stay.

Cycles passed. The strange planet Scorponok was stuck on continued its never-ending rotation on its axis. Soon, the sun reappeared above the opposite horizon, its first morning rays shining softly onto Scorponok's faceplate, the growing brightness apparent even through his optic covers. He opened his optics slowly. He was still cradled in the larger Decepticon's arms as she slept peacefully in a sitting position, Waspinator curled up around her feet. The insectoid's wings randomly fluttered with in time with some dream, emitting a quiet buzzing with each rapid beat.

She came online, and looked down at Scorponok with gentle, ruby optics. She carefully placed him down on the sand, her wasp-shaped symbiote awakening as she shifted. Waspinator flew back carefully, giving his partner room to Transform. The Song sang again as the space-black Decepticon femme became a wedge-shaped, matte-black jet.

The doors to the stealth fighter's bomb bay at the bottom of her fuselage opened, and Waspinator flew towards them but did not go inside. Instead, he turned and buzzed at his fellow bug-bot curiously.

For an astrosecond, Scorponok did not move. Blackout had said to stay.

But Blackout was not coming back. He knew this for certain now, even though it still hurt his Spark to think about it.

Slowly, uncertainly, he made his way towards the stealth's fuselage, stopping at the bomb bay doors and chirping inquiringly. The jet started her engines expectantly, as Waspinator flew inside and settled down on the floor. He buzzed encouragingly to his "brother".

With one last, hesitant chirp, Scorponok climbed inside the bomb bay. As the doors closed and he felt the jet take off, Scorponok let out a sad chirp. He did not quite understand what had happened, but he could no longer deny that his former partner would never return for him. He missed Blackout; he probably always would.

But Nightbird said it was time to go and Scorponok always obeyed.


	3. Ch 3 Blow at High Dough

**Transformers: Vapour Trails**

By Violetlight

Author's Note: Thanks again to the Good Idea Writing Club for giving me the swift kick in the aft I need (aka a deadline) to get writing. Just a warning to everyone, final projects are coming up so it might be a while before you see chapter 4, but I'll try not to take as long as I did for this one. Thanks again for reading!

Note 2: This chapter has the biggest changes made to it, especially in the last scene where I took Good Idea's advice about avoiding "talking heads" in dialogue. I didn't initially like how Frenzy just kind of disappeared in the last scene, so I've given him more of a role. Hope it's not _too_ cute.

* If Nightbird's attention to Frenzy seems a bit OOC, remember that in "Enter the Nightbird", Frenzy did make one of his rare cartoon appearences when the Decepticons first captured her from the humans and Autobots, so I think her relationship with him in this story still fits with the character. Also, Soundwave had a hand in programming G1 Nightbird, so I think a jump from "programmer" to "teacher" isn't too much of a stretch now that she's an actual Cybertronian.

Thanks also to Lady Tecuma for listening to me rant on about my fic, and givng me some great ideas!

* * *

Chapter 3: Blow at High Dough

"Barribarribarricade?"

"What is it now?" the police cruiser growled in annoyance.

"Are we there yetyet?"

"For the last time, NO!" The Ford's outburst almost caused him to swerve off the highway, which of course made the little silver terror standing in his front passenger seat laugh hysterically, even as he fell off the seat with the sudden movement. For at least the hundredth time, Barricade wondered why in Primus' name he had ever bothered to retrieve Frenzy from the ruins of Hoover Dam's radio room.

"Imagine what would happen if you didididn't," Frenzy taunted as he climbed back into his seat. "Heeheeheeheehee."

"Stop hacking my processors!"

"Make me!" Frenzy challenged, then swore in several Earth languages as Barricade slammed his firewalls down, even cutting off the internet connection to the mini-Con's laptop. This caused another round of swearing as Frenzy's attempts to trap all of Tranquility's traffic lights in green at once were spoiled. "Yyyyyou're no fun," he pouted.

As entertaining as the idea of multiple vehicular homicide was, Barricade had no time for games. "If you spent anywhere near as much time actually working as you do fooling around, we wouldn't be in this position." Barricade's reprimand had about as much as an effect on Frenzy as any of his others. Frenzy just chattered to himself in some strange English/ Cybertronian/ Primus-knows-what chimaera of a language. He occupied himself by trying to hack around, over, and through Barricade's firewalls and by sticking one of his four hands out the window and extending his middle digit at random passing cars.

What any human drivers thought of _that_, Barricade did not care. The annoying vermin never questioned him; most went out of their way to avoid his alternate form, a Saleen S281 Ford Mustang police cruiser. He just hoped none of those cars were Autobots in disguise, especially as he passed nervously close to a semi truck and unpleasant memories of what happened to Bonecrusher when he had been in just such a position came flooding back. Barricade mentally chastised himself for being so paranoid. Unless Optimus Prime had taken to pulling a Wal-Mart trailer, he had nothing to fear.

Seeing his exit, Barricade turned off the highway and onto a country road which soon shifted from pavement to gravel as he followed the Global Positioning System coordinates he had been given, _as ordered_, the Mustang thought bitterly. A short time later he reached his destination: one of the random wind-carved rock outcroppings that stuck out of the Mojave Desertlike periscopes. He opened his passenger side door, kicked Frenzy out, purposely aiming the tiny silver mech towards a clump of thorny desert plants, and transformed. Barricade scanned the area with angry red optics and double-checked his GPS coordinates. This was the right place, so where was Megatron's little pet?

"I contacted you cycles ago," Barricade heard simultaneously from both somewhere above him, and behind the rock. "What took you so long?"

"Unlike some Decepticons, I can't fly," he looked at the rock face above him for the first source of the voice. A buzz gave Waspinator's position away. The insectoid was hanging upside down stuck to the rock, broadcasting his partner's orders regardless of the fact that she was close enough for Barricade to hear. _Figures the little pest would choose an Earth form that looks like a bug that orbits garbage cans,_ Barricade thought as stalked around the rock.

Nightbird was sitting cross-legged in the shadows of the lee side, with Scorponok lying lazily in front of her. The end of his injured tail was lying in her lap as she welded one last segment into place, completing the repairs Blackout had no doubt begun. Her visor was down, and she did not bother retracting it, or even looking up, as Barricade came into view.

"Don't you have enough pets already?" Barricade snorted.

"I didn't see _you_ checking on Scorponok to see if he was still functioning." Nightbird placed her multi-tool back in her trans-space "backpack" and gave Scorponok an affectionate scratch on his optic ridges before letting him scurry off to test his new tail laser on the local flora. "It's lucky that he was. Symbiotes don't normally survive if their partners are killed."

"You better not have called me all the way out here to give lessons in pet care. What do you want with me?"

"Don't flatter yourself, Barricade. It's not you I want." She got up and walked past the police cruiser to the other side of the rock, where Frenzy was trying to untangle his leg from a small sagebrush he had got caught in. A smile crossed Nightbird's mouthplate when she saw the little mech. "Hey Frenzy."

"Nnnnnnightbird!" Frenzy squealed as he tore away from the bush and scurried up Nightbird's offered arm to perch on her right shoulder, the very shoulder Waspinator was trying to land on. Frenzy swatted him away, and started chattering to Nightbird excitedly. A sulking Waspinator took out his frustrations by joining his brother in a game of shoot-the-cactus.

To Barricade's surprise, Nightbird seemed to understand what Frenzy was babbling, answering "no, not yet, but Starscream's looking for him" to what he assumed was a question. A deep growl rumbled in Barricade's vocalizer as he impatiently watched his supposed partner open up to Nightbird in ways he never did with him.

"I hate to interrupt this little pet reunion, but can we get on with it?"

"Frenzy is nobody's pet," Nightbird said calmly, not rising to his bait. "You, Frenzy, and Scorponok are the only survivors, correct?"

"Unless you count the fraggin' Autobots, yeah. So what?"

"Starscream has ordered us to return to Mars …"

"Didn't take you long to become _his_ pet, did it?"

Nightbird ignored him. "However," she continued, "we're not going there. Not yet, anyway."

"Why not? Is Starscream that much of a disappointment?"

"You would know," Nightbird smirked, and Frenzy cackled even more hysterically than before. It took Barricade a few astroseconds to figure out what she meant. Then he felt like purging his tanks.

"As I was saying," she continued before Barricade could think of an equally disgusting riposte, "we won't be returning to Mars immediately. I have a few things I need to do here on Earth first, and I need Frenzy's assistance."

"Frenzy? Help? In what multiverse?"

"I need to discover just what the humans did with our fallen comrades' remains, and to achieve this, I'll need to hack into their military networks. I could do it myself, but it would be a lot easier with your help, Frenzy."

"Can we have funfunfun?"

"Of course we can, brightspark," Nightbird cooed.

Barricade snorted again at the endearment. "You do remember what his definition of 'fun' is?"

"After I have the information I need, I don't care if he wipes out the entire Internet."

"Can you do that?" Barricade asked Frenzy, to which the little Decepticon just giggled manically. "Guess there was a reason to go back for you," he muttered to himself.

"Go back?" Beneath Nightbird's visor, her optics narrowed. "Barricade, you're _supposed_ to be taking care of Frenzy,"

"I have! It's not my fault the little fragger can't keep himself in one piece!"

To Barricade's not-quite surprise, Nightbird seemed to have expected this. With a tilt of her head that seemed to say "not again!" she calmly asked, "Frenzy, do you have something to tell me?"

"No," he lied, and jumped off Nightbird's shoulder, a useless move since she grabbed him with an experienced snatch out of the air. She retracted her visor, and it did not take her long to spot the partially-repaired seam down the middle of the little mech's face.

"What happened?" she demanded as Frenzy tried to struggle out of her grip, and was answered by a high-speed stream of babbling Cybertronian. "Slow down! … You what? … Well that was stupid of you! How many times have I told you to be careful with your shuriken? … "You're just lucky your Creator gave you one Pit of a self-repair program!"

"Satified?" Barricade asked sarcastically.

"For now," Nightbird answered. "You had better be more careful from now on," she scolded Frenzy as she placed him gently on the ground.

"I will," he sulkily promised. "Sssssssorry."

Crossing his arms, Barricade asked, "so what am I supposed to do while you and the hyper hacker go play Frag-With-Computers?"

"You get to play Spy-On-The-Autobot."

"My second-favourite game. Can I play Smash-The-Autobot, too?"

"I don't know, can you?"

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"You tell me. I wasn't the one that got my aft handed to me by Bumblebee."

"Shut up," Barricade muttered, and turned to the giggling Frenzy. "You shut up too. At least _my_ head wasn't hacked off by a human."

"You're both pathetic," Nightbird interrupted before an argument could erupt between the two mechs. "Can we get back on topic here?"

"Yeah, about your little plan," Barricade continued. "Problem: There are four Autobots, and only one of me and Tranquility's infested with cars that look just like them."

"I have that covered too."

"You just think of everything, don't you?"

"One of us has to," Nightbird said, just as Waspinator and Scorponok flew and scurried past respectively. Apparently tired of blasting cacti, they were now chasing a panicked coyote. "Waspinator," the insectoid hovered in place at the sound of his name. "Come here."

Barricade raised an optic ridge at the symbiotes. "If you think I'm pet-sitting, you can think again."

"If you think I'd let you sit here on your aft while I do all the work, _you_ can think again!" Nightbird snapped back. "Waspinator is going to assist you in your part of the mission, whether you like it or not."

"Kiss my aft."

"Do as I say, or should I tell Starscream about your little … pen pal? Did you honestly think you could send reports to Shockwave through the spacebridge's transwarp network without my knowing of it?"

"You and Starscream can blow it out your exhausts! And that goes for your stupid plans too!" Barricade transformed and swung his door open violently. "Let's go, Frenzy."

"No," the little mech said resolutely.

"I don't have time for this sludge," Barricade muttered, and started to drive away, when Waspinator picked Frenzy up and dropped him down on Barricade's hood.

"Wwwwwe're not going anywhere."

"You want to stay with The Glitch, that's your problem. I'm leaving."

"Yyyyyou can't leave me. You promised Soundwave you'd pppppprotect me."

"Nightbird can do that now. You like her better anyway."

"Nnnnnightbird's different," Frenzy swung through Barricade's open driver's side window, extending the interface probe on one of his hands as he did so. Without giving his partner a chance to react, he stuck his probe into Barricade's interface port, disguised in car mode as the ignition slot.

* * *

"Frenzy! I'M GONNA KILL YOU!" Barricade shouted as his processors overloaded with data. Broken, fragmented images flashed in rapid succession before his optics:

Rumble, Frenzy's bronze-coloured, more robust twin, smashing his infamous pile drivers straight into an unfortunate Autobot's head ...

Ravage, the space-black felinoid, stalking something from the shadows, his single, blood-red optic staring out the darkness like a demon from the Pit …

Laserbeak and Buzzsaw, the twin avioids dive-bombing Autobots while the sonic booms of Seekers echoed through the skies …

Ratbat, another Pit-spawned demon, sinking his fangs into an Autobot's neck …

Feelings of pride and belonging accompanied the scenes – Frenzy's pride in his siblings, his sense of belonging, of acceptance in that group, something no force in the multiverse could take away from him.

Another scene appeared: Soundwave, the Symbiosis Master, calm and collected, as always, despite the chaos of the battle around him. A dark shape stood to his right, a quiet but deadly presence, waiting for his master's orders to strike. Barricade could not make out who the mech was …

No, it was not a mech. He should have known.

_Nightbird is the only one my Creator ever took as a student who wasn't of his own Creation. _Frenzy's voice through the interface was amazingly clear. Barricade watched as the scenes flickering before him focused on one showing a jet-black femme sparkling hugging a familiar metallic wasp to her, joy lighting up her optics as she excitedly thanked Soundwave for Creating a symbiote especially for her …

_Still she is a sister to me._

The scene changed one last time. He saw two images of himself, from optics spread wide apart in their owner's shattered head, and shared Frenzy's sense of near-disbelief mixed with relief as he picked up the broken little mech, of pure joy that Barricade had come back for him …

_You are my Protector._

* * *

Barricade blinked his optics. He could not remember transforming back to his main form; his head still spun with the data Frenzy had shared with him. He sat up and shook his head slowly, trying to clear his processors.

"Barribarribarricade?" The tiny Decepticon looked up at him with concern.

"I'm okay, just a little dizzy."

"Do yyyyyyou understand now?"

"… yeah. I think I do." He offered his arm, and Frenzy scurried up it to sit on his shoulder.

"Cccccome on. Nightbird's waiting."

* * *

Nightbird was sitting under the lee side of the rock once again. "Hey," Barricade offered as he sat down next to her. Frenzy shifted on his shoulder, curling up against his neck.

"Hey yourself," she continued to watch Scorponok and Waspinator either play or train, he was not sure which. Scorponok shot out of the sand directly below his hovering brother, then dove back in again, Waspinator soon choosing another spot to hover over.

"Look," Barricade broke the uncomfortable silence. "These last few orns have been the Pit …"

"I understand."

Barricade said nothing. They had an understanding; that was enough. No need to get all Autobot about it.

The two spent a few more breems watching the symbiotes. Finally Nightbird said what was on both their minds. "We're not friends. We barely know each other as comrades, but we're the only full-sized Decepticons left on this rock. Like it or not, we need to help each other."

"If it means killing a few Autobots instead of running from them, I'm in." Barricade grudgingly agreed. "Look, about Shockwave: You'd be sick of working for Starscream after a few thousand vorns too."

A fountain of sand from the symbiotes' latest round showered Nightbird's feet. "I'm sick of him already, but he is the better mech for the job. I know that you can see that too; you're not stupid. And I know why you're really working for the lens-headed freak."

"You read my reports?"

"I'm a spy! Of course I read them! I know what you want Shockwave to do for you in return for your 'loyal service'. What I don't understand is why you'd trust him for an astrosecond."

"What choice do I have? She's on Cybertron; he knows that much. Shockwave said he'd find her for me …" Barricade slammed his hand into the rock face in frustration, causing a spew of mumbled, half-Sparked swearing from Frenzy as the movement jolted him out of near-recharge. The interface must have taken more out of the little mech than Barricade had originally thought.

Nightbird gently took Frenzy off Barricade's shoulder and cradled him like a sparkling in her lap, one hand absently stroking the back of his head. "If Shockwave finds Flamewar, he'll do to her what he's probably planning to do with all femmes now that the Allspark has been destroyed. Shockwave always thought it was illogical to include femmes in the Decepticon ranks. There never were very many of us to begin with and most joined the Autobots when the war began."

Barricade raised an optic ridge at Nightbird's concern for Frenzy, but wisely decided against saying anything about that. Instead he asked, "Hasn't Prime's Bonded's forces been a huge pain in Shockwave's aft too?"

"Yes, they have, and despite his precious logic, that has something to do with his current opinion on femmes," she said bitterly.

Barricade nodded. "So you're saying that Shockwave wants to lock all femmes away somewhere and have you pumping out New Sparks like a factory? Sounds like somebody flunked basic mechanics. It doesn't work that way."

"Even if it did, we are Decepticons first, femmes second. Megatron always realized that. It would be an insult to his memory, to all that it means to be a Decepticon, to allow Shockwave to enslave us."

"You sound like Flamewar. She never puts up with any sludge either."

"If we did, we'd be Autobots."

Frenzy chose at that moment to let out what seemed to Barricade to be a pathetically cute yawn, before snuggling up closer against Nightbird's chassis.

"Yeah," Barricade tried not to groan at his partner's theatrics. Getting back to the subject at hand, he asked "but what if Shockwave has her already?"

"I doubt that. I only met Flamewar a few times, but those times were enough to illustrate her resourcefulness and intelligence. I'm sure I don't need to tell you that."

Nightbird was right. Flamewar could take care of herself; he knew that. Pit, it was one of the reasons he had fallen for her in the first place. Worrying about her would not help either of them, especially when he knew in his Spark that she was just fine. "How do you know Starscream won't pull the same stunt?" he asked instead.

"Don't worry about Starscream. I can …deal with him." She did not need to elaborate.

Getting away from _that_ particular tangent, Barricade asked, "So won't Shockwave be suspicious if I just stop transmitting all of a sudden?"

"He won't be because you won't stop sending your reports. You'll just have to do some … creative editing, and, of course, report to us what you're telling him."

"In other words, I'll be a double agent. Primus only knows how you spies keep it all straight," Barricade complained, but he had to admit, the thought of fragging Shockwave over had a certain appeal to it. "So what did you want me to do with the bug?" he changed the subject, before he was dragged deeper into the murky depths of Decepticon politics.

"I was beginning to think you had forgotten about that." Being careful not to wake Frenzy, Nightbird pulled something out of her subspace pocket. "Here," she tossed Barricade a visor, a match to the one she wore.

"What do I do with this?"

"What do you think? Put it on!"

"Your visor isn't exactly my style," he complained, but placed the visor over his optics anyway. It was too big for him; she must have originally designed it for someone else, probably Blackout. It was easy enough to adjust the size. Once properly fitted, he saw that the right side of the screen showed a "picture in picture" view of somewhere outside his field of vision. Seeing Scorponok burst out of the sand in that field confirmed his suspicions. With this visor he could see Waspinator's point of view.

"How is it?" Nightbird had extended her own visor.

"It will take some getting used to," Barricade grumbled. "What do the bars at the bottom of Waspinator's screen mean?"

"Concentrate on one of them; you'll find out."

Barricade stared at a bar just to the left of the middle. Sure enough, Waspinator's side of the screen changed. Now, he could see a blurry outline of Scorponok while he was under the sand, with colours concentrated at the arachnoid's weapons systems and Spark. He changed the view to just right of the default middle setting. A desert flower in Waspinator's view that had been plain white before was now crisscrossed with colourful lines.

"Waspinator can see in infrared and ultraviolet wavelengths, as well as normal visual light," Barricade realized.

Nightbird confirmed his suspicions. "He can see in _all_ electromagnetic wavelengths. X-rays, microwaves, radio frequencies, if it gives off or reflects _any_ wavelength, Waspinator can see it."

Through his side of the visor, Barricade looked closer at Waspinator's head and noticed for the first time that what he thought were two oversized optics were actually two _clusters_ of optics, made of hundreds of individual lenses. As he selected wavelengths, some of those optics turned off, and others turned on automatically. "How's this going to help me spy on the Autobots?" he asked.

"Think about it. How do you avoid attracting attention as a driverless car?"

"I use my holoavatar …" Barricade began. "Waspinator can see through holograms, can't he?"

Nightbird smiled. "Not only will you be able to easily track fellow driverless cars, even from a distance, but you'll be able to discover where the Autobots have hidden their base from the humans."

"Guess Waspinator's more useful than I thought."

"Remember, just spy on them for now. Find out what they've been doing, and more importantly, if they have any idea what _we're _doing. The longer they keep out of our business, the better."

"Yeah, I know. No smashing Autobot heads in just yet." Barricade agreed as he took off the visor. Apparently knowing what was going on, Waspinator buzzed over to Barricade and happily perched his shoulder.

"We'll meet back here in three orns. We'll figure out where to go from there then." Nightbird gently placed Frenzy down on the ground, next to the obediently waiting Scorponok. Frenzy seemed to awaken for about an astrosecond, then promptly flopped over, sprawled out on Scorponok's back.

"Good hunting," Barricade told Nightbird as he transformed. Waspinator flew through his back door and settled down on the seat.

"You too. Take care of Waspinator." Nightbird transformed as well, and Scorponok carried the sleeping Frenzy into her bomb bay.

Barricade watched the stealth fighter take off. Nightbird never did say just _why_ she wanted to find their dead comrades. No matter. Barricade and Frenzy were not alone on this Primus-forsaken rock, the Decepticon cause had not died with Megatron, and with Nightbird's help, maybe, just maybe, he would see his Bonded again soon. He inwardly smiled at the thought of having Flamewar in his arms again after thousands of vorns apart. That was what was really important.

He listened to Waspinator softly buzz in his sleep as he drove back down the dirt road. At the very least, he would have a few orns of peace and quiet.


	4. Ch 4a: Killing in the Name of

**Transformers: Vapour Trails**

Author's Note: Okay, this update took a LOT longer than I thought. Don't you hate it when schoolwork gets in the way of real work? Anyway, I have a long list of people to thank. First, to my Writing Club again for giving me some great writing ideas and tips, as always. Second, thanks to my friends here, Lady Tecuma, Hearts of Eternity and Litahatchee for listening to me rant about Transformers for hours on end on MSN, for sharing some great ideas, and for just all around helping me keep this fic going! Thanks a lot, ladies! You've been great! Everyone, check out their fics, "Sparks and Plasma", "What Time We Have Left" and "Night Fire" if you want some excellent TF stories!

* * *

Chapter 4 – Part 1: Killing in the Name Of 

"See anything yet?"

Waspinator answered his temporary master with the two-syllable buzz that Barricade had quickly learned meant "no". He had parked around the corner from where Waspinator was currently perched, in a tree on the unnaturally green grounds of Tranquility Secondary School. It had been simplicity itself to hack into the local school board's computer files, and even simpler to find the records of one Witwicky, Samuel James. Once again, the stupidity of humans amazed Barricade – no Cybertronians would ever be so lax about their sparklings' personal data and security.

_Where is the fragger?_ In a few breems, the humans would be released from what passed as education for their species, but there was still no sign of a certain obsolete-model yellow Camaro. Given the pathetic Autobot tendency to "adopt" organics, even when they no longer served any useful purpose, Barricade had figured that if he tracked the pet, he would find the master.

He then heard the loud, annoying clanging of the school's bell; Waspinator was almost startled off his perch. Crowds of noisy human younglings started to swarm out of the building. Waspinator buzzed questioningly. Which one was Barricade looking for?

Barricade let his holoavatar stroke its mustache thoughtfully as he examined the students heading towards the school parking lot. Although most humans tended to blend into each other, little differentiating one from the next, he would recognize "Ladiesman217" anywhere. "That one," he indicated the brown-haired young male exiting the school just then, accompanied by a disheveled blond male he did not recognize and the same dark-haired female that had attacked Frenzy. Barricade half-listened to the three younglings jabber on to each other as they walked towards the school's parking lot, their conversation the usual pointless drabble that seemed to monopolize the time of humans at this stage in their life cycles. Currently the two males were arguing about which of two fictional characters called "Batman" and "Spiderman" could "kick" the other's "butt", the female looking nearly as bored as Barricade felt. He inwardly groaned. Where the Pit was Bumblebee?

The younglings approached a brand new yellow car, the engine starting up automatically. This was not unusual in itself; Barricade had observed that humans often had automatic starters for newer vehicles. However, the fact that this car was yellow; yellow with the same black racing stripes …

Barricade switched Waspinator's view to infrared mode. A small, cold smile crossed his holoavatar's face. To Waspinator's multi-wavelength vision, Bumblebee might as well be lit up like one of those coniferous trees humans decorated at the end of their solar cycles. The thermograph showed Bumblebee's Spark glowing like a miniature sun within his frame as the younglings, multi-coloured blobs representing the minimal heat human bodies gave off, climbed inside him.

Barricade shuddered at the thought. To _let_ fleshlings sit inside him like that, like he was no more than one of their machines? Did Bumblebee have no sense of self-respect? No, of course he didn't. He _was_ an Autobot, after all.

His holoavatar shook its head as Barricade tried to rid himself of such distractions. "Follow him," he ordered. Waspinator buzzed an affirmative and discretely flew out of the tree as Bumblebee drove out of the parking lot, zigzagging close to rooftops to stay out of sight of anyone who might be suspicious of a giant metal wasp. Barricade briefly wondered if Nightshade would consider making this trade permanent.

As he prepared to track his new favourite partner's progress, for some reason a term Barricade had once heard some anonymous (and now dead) Sector Seven agent use to describe Cybertronians entered his processors. He laughed at just how inappropriate the phrase was now.

_Robots in disguise my aft_.

* * *

"Easy girl, we're almost home." Captain Carol Summers often talked to her plane, a habit she tried not to publicize, but it was difficult not to believe that the F-117 Nighthawk had a personality, of sorts. The planes were notorious for their touchiness, the way pilots had to constantly fight to keep them with in the air with their unusual aerodynamics. "The Buckin' Batjet" one of her squadronmates, an F-15 veteran, had called it.

With the newer, faster, sleeker and just as stealthy F-22 Raptors gaining in prominence, apparently the Air Force top brass no longer considered the Nighthawks worth the effort to keep operating, despite their admirable combat records. The angular, almost alien-looking stealth fighters were due to be retired that coming spring. Carol sighed at the thought. "I'm going miss you," she told her jet, patting the side of her cockpit affectionately.

As the first morning rays started to peek over the Spring Mountain Range of southwestern Nevada, she turned her plane back towards her current base, the Tonopah Test Range Airport. It was fitting, she thought absently, that the first home of the Stealth program would once again house the planes near the end of their service career. With the recent terrorist attacks on Mission City, the base was just close enough to the city that another attack could be repelled in minutes, but far enough away to avoid unwanted civilian attention. Nighthawks were rather recognizable in the daylight, after all - another reason why combat missions and live-weapon patrols like the one she was on now were flown only at night. The sun was rising. It was time to return to base.

That was the last coherent thought to go through her mind before she felt it. It was just a headache at first, an annoying tick of pain behind her eyes, but within seconds it grew much more intense. Carol reached for the radio controls, to break silence and ask for assistance in landing her plane, when she saw the angular shape of another Nighthawk silently float up beside her. This didn't make any sense. Nighthawks flew alone – that was one of the first things new pilots were taught when assigned to Wraith Squadron. To fly within visual range of another Nighthawk on anything but a training mission compromised their stealth. None of her squadronmates, all Iraq combat veterans, would ever forget that!

The pain suddenly intensified, drilling into her skull, as a ruby glow washed over her. It was some sort of beam from the other Nighthawk – an energy weapon? But nobody but the United States had Stealths, and the States had nothing like that!

Fighting to keep her plane in the air, with pain so intense she could not even see her controls, never mind aim her guns, Carol Summers could only stare defiantly at the enemy pilot …

There was no pilot, just an empty cockpit, but then, with a flicker like an old television turning on, she was suddenly staring back into her own eyes.

She saw nothing else.

* * *

_Slag it! Why must organic brains be so delicate?_

_It's not like you weren't going to kill her anyway. _Frenzy reasoned. Nightbird felt him shift slightly in her bomb bay. She was still getting used to having to carry her symbiotes inside of her, as was required to maintain the stealth effect of this form, and hearing Frenzy's voice coming from within her just added to the sensation's strangeness.

_True, but now all of the human's memory files are scrambled. Their minds are disorganized enough at the best of times; it's going to take quite some time to defragment the data._

Frenzy scoffed at that. _Squishy memories hardly count as "data". You probably won't need it anyway._

_It never hurts to prepare for any circumstance. We might encounter somebody at the base who knows – well, knew, that human._

_If we do, we'll just have to take care of them, won't we Scorponok? _The symbiote's tail tip scratched lightly against the upper interior of Nightbird's bomb bay as he chirped his agreement.

_Now now, you two. The mission comes first. We can have some "fun" afterwards._

_Pppppromise? _Frenzy's excitement was evident even in Cybertronian.

_Of course, brightspark. _

* * *

Compared to the frantic pace of commercial airports, or even the less frenzied, but still busy, major air force bases like Nellis, being an air traffic controller at a small test range such as Tonapah was relaxing. There was usually only one plane trying to land at a time, being landed by skilled pilots who only had themselves to think about, not two hundred-plus cranky, tired passengers. The controller, enjoying the relatively tranquil pace of his new job, did not even bother to watch as the Stealth landed. Captain Summers had given her clearance codes in her usual precise way, and besides, the Nighthawks were among the most heavily guarded planes in the Forces, obsolete technology or not. There was simply no way any terrorist _could_ hijack one. The controller went back to his crossword puzzle without a second thought, not noticing when something crawled down the landing gear of the plane as it taxied towards the hangers and effortlessly dove into the sand at the edge the runway, with a small, silver passenger along for the ride.

* * *

"Get them off."

Will Lennox grinned and leaned back in his seat, his boots not moving from their comfortable position on the GMC Topkick's dashboard. "When are you going to learn to relax?"

He was answered by an icy glare from the grizzled old soldier "sitting" in the driver's seat beside him. "Get them off now, or I'll use _you_ as a footrest."

"Alright, alright. Chill, "Sergeant Hide", or do I have to pull rank on you?"

Ironhide scoffed, his holoavatar frowning at the same time Lennox felt the pickup truck's engines rumble. "I was blasting Decepticons to atoms when your ancestors were still picking parasites off each other and eating them."

Lennox shook his head. "Heh, have I told you that you remind me of my old drill sergeant back in boot camp?"

"This will be the seventeenth time," Lennox felt the truck shift on his tires impatiently. "When will this friend of yours be landing again?"

"Carol's plane should be coming down soon." Just as he said it, Lennox noticed the Nighthawk taxiing to the end of the line of Stealths in front of the main hanger, waiting to be put away after the day shifts' F-15s were moved out. "That's her."

Ironhide's holoavatar narrowed its eyes at the jets and a low rumble growled forth from his engine. "Flyers …"

"Not everything in the air's a Decepticon, 'Hide. I've known Carol since boot camp; she introduced me to Sarah. There's no other officer in the whole military I trust more than her and she's one hell of a pilot. If you guys want air support, she's the woman for the job. Lennox exited the truck, and walked towards the line of Stealths. "You'll like her, trust me," he called back over his shoulders.

Ironhide did not move from his "parking spot" on the tarmac. Instead, he activated his comm. link. _Prime, this is a bad idea letting even more humans know about us, whether Will trusts this flying femme or not. _

_We are guests here on Earth, and as such, we need to learn to trust our hosts._

_After what those Sector Seven slaggers did to Bumblebee?_

_We must have faith that they were the minority. Even you appreciate Captain William Lennox's prowess as a warrior, Ironhide. Respect his judgment here as well._

Ironhide shut off the link, the truck lumbering forward towards the jets. "I still don't like this."

* * *

_Frenzy, report._

A small, silver head popped out of the sand at the edge of the tarmac, behind several parked jeeps. "Stustustupid sand! Don't know how ScorponScorponok stands it!" Frenzy pulled himself out of the sand and brushed grains from his antennae with one hand while giving the desert his favourite human hand signal with another. Scorponok stuck his head out of the hole Frenzy had just vacated and chattered, amused at his partner's irritation. Frenzy swore at him and sent one of his shuriken flying at the arachnoid. With a mocking chirp, Scorponok just dove back into the sand, safely out of reach.

_Quit fooling around, you two. According to my initial scans, you should be able to find the data we need in the Base Commander's computer. Can you get inside without being seen?_

"That'll bebebeeasy," Frenzy eyed the half-open window at the side of the base and giggled to himself maniacally. The smooth concrete wall posed no obstacle, his little claws finding invisible grips as he scurried up the wall and inside the base in astroseconds.

The base's hallways were mostly empty this early in the morning, though Frenzy did have to utilize his stereo alt mode once to avoid a private, barely out of younglinghood, carrying a tray of coffee cups. "What's thatthatthat? Smellsgood!" The intriguing odour of the liquid reaching his olfactory sensors made Frenzy consider the young human's whirling electric death. "Maybe on wayway out." He skittered to the end of the hallway, stopping in front of a door clearly labeled in the humans' primitive text: "Colonel R. Stark – Base Commander". "Heeheehee! Stupid squishies! Nnnnnnnightbird, I'm in!"

_Excellent Frenzy. Contact me once you've accessed the network, and I'll help search for the files._ Nightbird turned her holoavatar's head towards the base's main offices. She was used to doing this kind of intelligence gathering mission herself. However, the notable absence of Blackout and Brawl was proof enough that the humans, while still being primitive and stupid, could pose a legitimate danger to her kind. After Qatar the humans would be expecting another outright attack, so it was best to play it safe and remain in vehicle mode while Frenzy did the hacking. She let her holoavatar sigh, an ample human expression for the uselessness she felt, and started a visual examination of the base.

It was then she noticed one of the humans shouting and waving his arm, seemingly at her. She waved back, remembering from her cultural research that this motion was a human greeting, and began a quick image search through the memory files she had only partially begun to defragment. _Lennox, Will. _A few image files flashed through her CPU: a younger version of this human talking to "her" while travelling inside a large, multi-human vehicle known as a "bus", introducing a nervous Lennox to a blonde-haired human femme, accompanied by sensations of amusement and pride, and finally, the same couple, now dressed strangely with the blonde femme in an all-white, flowing garment, during a ceremony of some sort. The exact meanings of the images were unimportant. What did matter was that this "Lennox" had known the pilot she was now mimicking. A small smile crossed her holoavatar's lips. It had been a long time since Nightshade had put her enemy infiltration training to practical use. This could be fun.

Nightbird lifted her cockpit canopy and lifted her holoavatar partially out of her cockpit. "Will! What's a ground pounder like you doing in a place like this?"

Lennox grinned. "Waiting around for a flygirl like you. How've you been?"

Will's small talk could not hold "Carol's" attention however, as a very large black GMC Topkick pickup truck drove up beside him. The truck's driver, a gruff old soldier, paused for a second, seeming to think about something, before opening the door and stepping out to stand beside Will. He crossed his arms and glared up into her holoavatar's face, seeming to stare right through her.

Nightbird froze. It took a few astroseconds for her to remember to allow her holoavatar to blink. That truck looked awfully familiar … just like the one in Starscream's holovid of the Mission City battle, one that Transformed into the one Autobot no sane Decepticon ever wanted to deal with.

"Aren't you going to introduce me to your friend?" she asked Will, once regaining her composure. _Stay in character – if that is him, it's my only chance!_

"Oh yeah! He's actually what I wanted to talk to you about. Carol, meet Sergeant Ron Hide, Special Ops. Ron, this is Captain Carol Summers, US Air Force."

"A … pleasure to meet you, Sergeant," she managed to say, and revved her engines for an astrosecond, to mask her transmission. _Frenzy! Autobot alert – it's Ironhide! I'll distract him as long as I can, but as for the research, you're on your own._

Note 2: Thanks again to Litahatchee for helping out with the military info in this chapter. Sorry to leave everyone on an evil cliffhanger, but the action in the next part will make up for it, promise! Don't kill me or I can't update!


	5. Ch 4b: Let the Bodies Hit the Floor!

**Transformers: Vapour Trails**

Author's Note: First, I'd like to appologize to my readers, assuming I still have any. I'm in my third year of university, majoring in English. This means I have TONS of essays to write, books to read for school, and very little time to work on my own stuff. Sometimes, I literally can only write a sentence a week. Thanks for your understanding.

Also, for the first time in my life, I have made a school sports team! I'm on the Brock University Fencing Team, in Women's Epee, which has really, really helped with this chapter, and with my action scenes in general. In thanks, this chapter is dedicated to my teammates on the fencing team. Brock Badgers rock!

Special thanks also to **Lady Tecuma**, **Litahatchee**, and **Hearts of Eternity **for your patience, encouragement, and editing help. In fact, I'm visiting Tecuma and Lita in Florida right now! (Yay to shorts in February!) You're the best!

The background song for this chapter is "Bodies" (aka "Let the Bodies Hit the Floor") by Drowning Pool. If you want to add a little music, start the song at the start of the last scene.

Also, if you happen to spot any area in this or previous chapters where I have missed changing Nightbird's name in my editing, please let me know in a PM, not in your review, and say exactly where you spotted the inconsistancy. (i.e. chapter 3, scene 2). I've been trying my best to catch every instance, but unlike my protagonists, I'm only human. Cut me some slack! :P

I hope everyone enjoys this chapter, and thanks again for reading!

* * *

Chapter 4b: Let the Bodies Hit the Floor!

"Ohshit." The synonym for human exhaust had quickly become one of Frenzy's favourite Earth curses, and it seemed especially appropriate for any situation involving Ironhide. "Gotta workfast!"

Several other choice words, from Cybertronian, English, and the myriad of languages Frenzy had learned since he had first come online, entered and left his processors in rapid succession as the frustration he felt towards the computer in front of him grew exponentially. "Slaggin'pieceofJunkionscrap!" It had been sparklings' play to hack into the base's network, much simpler than even the relatively easy task of hacking Air Force One, but no matter what he tried, the same annoying message kept presenting itself: "File Not Found".

"Fuck!" Another favoured word – especially well-liked for its versatility. "Fuckfuckityfuckfuckfuck! 'FileNot Found' myaft!"

For a creature Created and trained to hack ever-improving Autobot computer systems, the sheer simplicity of these human computers, barely above the cave wall scratching they had made around the same time Megatron had crashed into this Primus-forsaken rock, made them all the more annoying. Momentarily forgetting that this was supposed to be a stealth mission, Frenzy's foot claws started to prick tiny holes in the hardwood floor of the base commander's office as he typed faster than the human eye could follow, lines of ones and zeroes flashing by on the monitor equally quick. Stupid humans. In _real_ computing, things were much more complicated than just on or off, yes or no, right or wrong…

However, yes or no was precisely what he was looking for, with "no" being by far the most prominent answer. Suddenly, the typing, scanning and the inevitable chattering to himself Frenzy always did while hacking, stopped, as one tiny line of coding caught his attention. All eight of Frenzy's icy-blue optical lenses expanded. This particular line of ones and zeroes told him that a large amount of data had recently been wiped from the military network. Not moved or locked away, but completely erased. Only this obscure line of code remained to indicate that anything had ever been there at all.

"Whatwhatwhat fuckery is this?" Screeching a string of Cybertronian curses that would make a Combaticon rust, Frenzy scanned the entire system in one massive fury, wires sparking, random letters popping off the keyboard as Frenzy pushed the archaic machine to its physical limits. "Finally!" One tiny, forgotten fragment of a text file presented itself:

"For more info, seeseesee analog … what'sthat?" Here was a word Frenzy was unfamiliar with. Using his newly self-upgraded, Barricade-blocking-proof internal routers, he looked up the definition on that ever-so-useful human Internet. " valuealongacontinuousscale … the slag? Physical representatatation ofdata? Physicphysicphysical? How the slag doyoudothat?"

Utterly confused, Frenzy did the only thing he could think of: typed "analog" into the base's positioning system. After nearly half a breem, a ridiculously long time to wait for data, even with the computer barely holding together, an answer appeared on the now cracked and smoking screen. A section of the map's graphics lit up.

"'File Room' thatthatthat's just down the hall!" Leaving behind the now-derelict Dell, Frenzy scurried out of the base commander's office, and down a side hallway. He easily hacked the electronic lock for the door to the mysterious file room, and scurried inside excitedly. What surely Cybertronian-inspired technological toy would be just waiting for him to sink his little claws into?

Frenzy's antennae drooped. There was no computer here, no laptop, not even an electrical outlet. The only things drawing power in the room, besides himself, were the faintly flickering florescent light panels in the ceiling, even then only barely, with two thirds of the cylindrical bulbs burnt out. Covered in a layer of fine, gray dust, were rows and rows of plain, black-painted, aluminum monoliths. Curious, Frenzy reached out for what appeared to be a handle of some kind sticking out from the nearest one.

He jumped back, startled, as the drawer slid out. What he found inside was definitely no supercomputer. Instead, there were layers of some soft, flimsy material which stuck on his claws, ripping, when he tried to pick it up. Frenzy remembered seeing something like this before; one of the fleshlings on their pitiful leader's aircraft had been reading a document made out of the same kind of material, only flimsier. What was it called again? "Papppper? Yeah! That's ititit!" On the "paper", markings matching the same peculiar symbols the fleshlings used in their text files were written. He read it aloud. "Invoice: 100 000 gal. XA-574 engine coolant forforfor f-series jets…isthisthis analog?"

Frenzy could not believe it. _This_ was how the squishies hoped to hide their data from hackers – by storing it in this inefficient, time and space-consuming, easily destroyed, antique excuse for a medium? Well, it would not keep _this_ hacker out! "Anaanaanalog!" Snarling what he now considered to be the worst expletive the English language had to offer, Frenzy dove faceplate first into the nearest file cabinet's drawer …

* * *

"Is something wrong with your plane, Carol? I thought I heard the engine sputter for a second there."

"You know these old birds, Will."

"Actually, being a groundpounder and all, I don't."

"Well, they've got their kinks."

"I'm sure …" Hide growled. The old soldier had not stopped staring at Carol, grimacing was more like it. As rude as he was acting, at least Ironhide was putting a little more effort into the "disguise" aspect of being a Robot in Disguise, as he had remembered to open his door _before_ letting his holoform exit the truck this time. Will grimaced himself, remembering how long the shouting match between Rob Epps and Ironhide had lasted after that little mishap – Epps yelling for being "freaked the fucked out", Ironhide in turn yelling something at the tech sergeant in his own, electronic-sounding language that Will would rather not know the translation to.

Will's train of thought was broken, as a pair of ground techs brushed past him, luckily to the opposite side of him than Ironhide's holoavatar, to roll up the dismounting ladder to the side of Carol's plane. Carol briefly nodded at the techs, but made no move to leave her cockpit. Instead, she was giving Hide a matching unfriendly look to the one he was giving her. "That's not exactly a regulation vehicle, Sergeant," she said.

"It serves my purposes quite well." Hide grumbled, then reluctantly added "ma'am" when Will kicked the one of the truck's tires.

"Where do you pick these guys up, Will?" Carol asked, obviously not impressed with Hide's lack of military manners.

"Like I said, he's Special Ops. You know what those guys are like." Will tried to explain. "One sec, I think I left my PDA in the truck." Allowing Carol to begin her post-flight checklist, Will headed back towards the Topkick, and jerked his head at Hide for him to "follow". "What's the matter with you?" he hissed as he opened the truck's door to pretend look for his non-existent handheld.

"You know, I could have just left my holoavatar over there." Ironhide argued, his robotic voice coming from the truck radio's speaker's rather than from the simulated soldier, which was still staring at Carol intently.

"Why? So you keep staring at her like a cat watching a mouse? I said you could trust her, already! Cut the anti-social!"

"I don't recall being 'social' as being part of our arrangement here."

"You're the one who wanted to be the Autobot military liaison."

"Only because Prime's too busy making sure your idiotic government actually _does_ disband Sector Seven, Bumblebee's spark-sitting the younglings, and Ratchet's …"

"…Still trying to piece Jazz back together?" Will asked quietly.

"Slagger doesn't know when to give up." Ironhide grumbled. "The last thing we need right now is another human - "

"Getting in your way?"

Ironhide's holoavatar glared at him. "Stop finishing my sentences. Look, just get this friend of yours out of her plane and back to base, so one, we can recruit her, and two, we can stop this stupid game. Being a truck is one thing, pretending to be a human is fraggin' degrading!"

"You know, I was kind of hoping my species would maybe meet 'beloved pet' status with you guys." Will started. "I could be like a German Shepard or something."

Ironhide – both the truck and his holoavatar – made a sound suspiciously like a snort. "Right now, you barely make 'hamster'."

"Hamster? Come on! At least give me something with some bite to it."

"Mute it, or you'll be downgraded to 'goldfish'." Ironhide said. "And another thing: Carol's body temperature is two point oh-four percent higher than normal for human females."

"…so?"

"It's suspicious."

"For Christ's sake, Hide! Now you're just nitpicking!" Will groaned.

"I am not. If you want someone to pick parasites off your skin, ask Epps. I hear it's a bonding ritual for your not-so-distant biological relatives."

"That's not …" Will began, then shook his head. "Forget it. Look, she's probably just excited from flying. Pilots get that way; it's some sort of thrill for them to be in the air, from what Carol's always told me."

"Sounds like a slaggin' Seeker."

"A what?"

"A particularly annoying kind of Decepticon." Ironhide pointedly ignored Will's subsequent glare. "Just be careful." With no further comment, his holoavatar started to walk back towards Carol's plane.

Will closed – or rather slammed – the door to the truck, and followed. "I'm telling you, there's nothing to worry about."

* * *

Scorponok poked his head out of the sand below one of the jeeps parked just off the air base's tarmac, and watched the screen from Frenzy's entry window blow back and forth in the desert wind, hanging by one hinge. Frenzy had been in the base for nearly three breems now - ten earth "minutes", from his vague understanding of such things. Either way, it was much longer than it would usually take the little silver mech to hack even a sophisticated Autobot computer system, never mind the squishies' toys. He chirped in frustration, missing Blackout's more direct way of getting information.

A loud crash shook the arachnoid back to attention as the screen finally gave way to gravity. Startled, he hid behind one of the jeep's tires, barely daring to peek out in the direction of his Mistress, and the Autobot and his fleshling pet that she was trying to distract. The human turned his head briefly towards the noise …

And a flash of recognition burned through Scorponok's memory banks.

_Kill them._

_The order had been simple, but efficient, like all of Blackout's orders. Kill the humans fleeing the base, every last one of them …_

_Scorponok lying beneath the sand; the pain of his physical wounds were nothing next to the shame he felt for failing Blackout …_

_Blackout scooping him up in his massive arms, chirping to him quietly, soothing him, promising to tear apart all of the fleshling fraggers who had dared to hurt him…_

_Stay here Scorponok. I'll be back soon …_

Blackout had not come back. He would never come back. And somehow, Scorponok knew it was this human's fault!

For an astrosecond, conflict racked Scorponok's simple processor. Nightbird had said to stay here, to wait for Frenzy.

Although Nightbird was kind and caring, although she had saved Scorponok's life, she had only been his partner for about an orn. How could that compare to the mech who had brought him online, who had cared for him and protected him for so many vorns, who was a part of Scorponok's very spark?

_Kill them. Kill them all._

His optics shining with a murderous red glint, he sunk back under the sand.

Scorponok always obeyed.

* * *

Nightbird's holoavatar met her opponent's irritating scrutiny with an annoyed stare of her own. "Found your PDA?" She asked the human, her avatar's holographic eyes not leaving Ironhide's fittingly decrepit avatar's for an astrosecond, although her own sensors were firmly locked on the Topkick himself.

"Um, no. I must have left it back home or something," Will replied lamely. From what Nightbird understood about human facial expressions, he looked like he did not even believe his own words himself … like he was ashamed to be lying to his "friend". If Nightbird could have used her faceplates in this configuration, she would have smirked. Primitive social conventions could be so useful.

Forcing her holoavatar to turn its head towards Will, in a gesture that apparently reassured humans that speakers were indeed paying attention to them, Nightbird casually asked, "so what gives? Your friend's acting like he's never seen a Stealth before. That's surprising for 'Special Ops'."

"You're acting like I should be impressed." The "sergeant" countered.

Nightbird carefully adjusted her tone. "You should be. Only the best pilots can keep these beauties in the air, right Will?"

Will took a step back and held up one hand. "Groundpounder, remember? I'll take your word for it."

"Anyway," Hide interrupted. "We need to talk to you about … an unusual mission. Come with us." The avatar walked back to "his" truck, the door swinging open slightly before the avatar's hand had touched the handle, something a human would not have noticed. To Nightbird's trained sensors, however, Ironhide might as well have painted his faction symbol on the top of his hood.

_Slag! _Her holoavatar could only move a few mechanometers away from her frame, plus it had to stay within the line of sight of her projector. Not to mention that even a comparatively dense, trigger-happy Autobot like Ironhide, infamous for solving problems with his cannons as opposed to his processor, could tell the difference between a human and a weightless hologram. As she tried to fight the sense of panic threatening to overwhelm her systems, Nightbird crossed her holoavatar's arms. She had to make her excuse look believable from the human's perspective, while distracting both him and Ironhide from her real motives. An idea came to mind, something that almost always worked with her own faction. "No offence, Will, but your friend here has no idea how to ask a lady out. If you and Sarah want to set me up that badly, you can do better than him."

"I've had better than you." Ironhide retorted. He made no effort to hide the disgust in his tone.

Not that Nightbird found the idea any less disgusting. However, if one thing could muddle the thinking of males of all species, it was the suggestion of sex. "I seriously doubt it."

"I don't." Ironhide was proving to be a frustrating exception the rule. .

"You guys, stop." Will interrupted. "Seriously, we've got to talk to you; it won't take long."

"Why can't you tell me here?"

"It's confidential." Ironhide said gruffly before Will could respond.

Nightbird spread her holoavatar's arms wide, indicating the empty hanger. The last of the dayshift's F-15s had left on patrol and the other stealth pilots were long finished their post-flight checks. "What, do you think the _planes_ are going to gossip? Whatever you have to say, you can say it here."

Hide snorted. "Let's just say I'm not taking any chances with these relics."

"Relics! This coming from a guy driving a rustbucket GMC, of all things. Don't you know what that stands for?"

"'Glorious motorized classic'." Hide said smugly.

"How about 'got mechanic coming?'"

"Carol, cut it out. This isn't like you." Will interrupted. "Hide, cool it! Carol really likes her Stealths …" Will tried to explain.

"I don't care what she –" Hide started. Then, his avatar's eyes narrowed as a small, malevolent grin formed on its face. "Just why can't you leave that ugly flying geometry experiment for an _astrosec_?" he asked "Carol" pointedly.

"Hide!" Will yelled.

"I don't know, why don't drive something besides that busted up old gas-guzzling monster?" Nightbird yelled, before she could stop herself. _"Astrosec" … oh shit …_ _wait, that doesn't necessarily mean anything._ Nightbird forced herself to calm down; she had to gain back the human's sympathy. "I'm sorry Will," she began, the words sounding more alien to her than anything else she had said. "I've been under a lot of stress, with the brass scrapping the Stealth program, the jackass I have to work under next …"

The human offered her a small smile. "Yeah, Lieutenant Colonel Latta, I've heard horror stories about him, even among us groundpounders. Reminds me of back in boot camp; remember that one drill sergeant we had?"

"Yeah, was he ever a jerk, making us do a hundred pushups for every little thing." Nightbird laughed nostalgically. Carol's memory files were proving their usefulness.

"What was his name again?"

"Drill Sergeant Townsend." Nightbird answered automatically.

"It's amazing that you can remember something from so many cycles ago." Ironhide remarked icily.

_You're going to have to do better than that._ Nightbird thought. "Will you stop with the weird words already? 'Astrosec'? 'Cycles'? What are you, some kind of NASA washout?" These amateur traps were really starting to irritate her.

"It is kind of weird that you'd remember stuff like that. I'd totally forgotten the Sarge's name." Will remarked, though he did not sound suspicious.

"It's weird the things you remember." Nightbird answered. She was certain the look of annoyance on Ironhide's avatar's face reflected the actual Autobot's growing impatience. Good. "So Will," she began, continuing to distract the human. "How are things with you and Sarah anyway? She must be happy to have you home," she said, placing a knowing look on her avatar's face. Her research indicated that humans could talk about their family units for excessively long periods of time, if they were encouraged to do so. Hopefully, such a discussion would bore Ironhide enough that he would leave.

Will's face lit up at the mention of his mate. Good, her research seemed to be accurate. "She's really happy, and she's not the only one. You really should come over and see Annabelle sometime."

"Annabelle?"

"Didn't I tell you? Well, you've been overseas, so maybe not. Sarah and I have a new baby girl! Here, I've got pictures in my wallet." As Will fumbled around in his pockets, Nightbird looked up the vaguely familiar term in the research archives of her memory banks, not daring to access the humans' internet with Ironhide so close. _Girl … a young female human. Baby …_

A baby was a newly Created human, a small, helpless, squirming little thing, with no preprogramming whatsoever, unable to walk, to talk, to even feed itself, communicating through cries and other unintelligent noises, completely dependent upon its parents.

A new life. A tiny little beacon of potential, of hope.

Something that her own kind, with the destruction of the Allspark, would never experience again.

_Unless…_

"A … baby?" Nightbird stuttered. Instinctively, automatically, she sucked air into her intakes, a Cybertronian equivalent of a gasp.

In less than an astrosecond, she realized what she had done.

Ironhide's avatar smiled a predatory grin. "Will, get away from the plane." He ordered, as the Topkick started to Transform, an all-too familiar sound filling the air.

* * *

"Hello? Anybody in there?" The young private turned the doorknob to the filing room carefully, surprised to find it unlocked. "If y'all are, get the door, will ya?" He pushed the door open with his knee, as a stack of the Base Commander's files filled one of his arms, and he held a half-empty coffee pot with his other hand, trying to reach for the room's light switch while avoiding spilling the now-lukewarm liquid. He had probably just forgotten to lock the door after fetching the last batch of files, and cursed under his breath. Good thing Colonel Stark was home sick today, otherwise he'd get an earful for that.

Finally switching on the main room lights, he dragged his feet over to the nearest cabinet to throw his stack on the top, nearly slipping on a bunch of papers scattered across the floor in front of it. "Damnit!" Shoving his stack on top of the cabinet, he kneeled down, put the coffee pot down beside him and picked up a handful of papers. A few more choice words escaped under his breath as he examined the mess; he knew full well who would have to clean it up.

"Son of a bit …" he stopped in mid-swear, as he noticed that the next cabinet over also had a pile of papers scattered in front of it, as did the next one, and the next. It looked like the entire contents of the filing room had been pulled out and blown around the room like autumn leaves from a Land of Accounting. He froze, and a scratching sound caught his ear from the back of the room.

Drawing his pistol, the young private quietly made his way towards the sound. He crouched behind a cabinet, using it for cover, and peered around the corner.

The sound was coming from _inside_ the third-last cabinet in the room, the scratching noises accompanied by muffled, almost _electronic_-sounding muttering as papers were tossed out of the cabinet by whatever was inside. The private's eyebrows raised in confusion as he distinctly heard several word that would be more at home in the barracks than in a file room, along with "analog", for some reason. A flash of something silvery and metallic caught the private's eye; some sort of robot? He shook his head, thinking he had spent far too many nights watching old science fiction movies.

"Al…alright, come on out of there with your hands up, ya hear? Now!" The private tried his best to sound commanding. He pointed his gun at the cabinet, trying desperately to stop the shaking of his hands.

He almost lost his grip - on his gun and on his bladder - as _four_ clawed, metal arms suddenly sliced their way out from the cabinet, and maniacal, chattering laughter answered him from inside. "Stupidstupidstupid squishy! Youdienow! Heeheeheeheeheeheehee!"

Forgetting his training in one surreal moment, the private dropped his gun and ran for his life.

With the sound of gunfire bouncing off the cabinets behind him, his feet slipping on the scattered papers, he finally saw the thick, lockable, bulletproof door in sight. Just a few more steps … and then there was a sharp, piercing pain at the back of his head, a sickening, hot wetness.

His vision going red, the private managed to reach out towards the fire alarm next to the light switches. The last sound he heard was the base-wide alarm going off, a comforting welcome to oblivion.

* * *

"'Ironhide, what the hell!" Will yelled as the Topkick Transformed. No point of continuing this ruse now. He turned to see Carol frozen in her cockpit, a look of horror plastered on her face … Jesus! She wasn't even breathing!

"Carol!" He ran up the dismounting ladder. "Carol, it's okay! I know it doesn't look like it, but Ironhide's a friend, really." No reaction. "Carol?" Will reached out to put a hand on his friend's shoulder …

Only to have it pass right _through _her.

"Will! Get away from there now! That's not your friend!" Ironhide boomed. His transformation sequence complete, the giant mech stood in front of the plane, the tips of his cannons glowing bright blue with plasma energy just waiting to erupt, into … into…

It couldn't be possible. Not Carol, not his old boot camp friend, Sarah's high school classmate, their Maid of Honour at their wedding, Annabelle's middle namesake …

"Captain Lennox." Ironhide's voice was now a low, dangerous growl. "Move, now."

"I … Ironhide …" His head turned towards the giant mech, only to see a the concrete beneath him collapse suddenly, then explode outwards just as Ironhide stumbled backwards, explode in a horrifyingly-familiar way …

"Ah shit, no! 'Hide!" Will yelled as the scorpion-shaped horror he had thought they had finished off in Qatar burst out from under Ironhide in a very unwanted instance of deja-vù. Will leaped off the ladder, barely missing the laser fired from the scorpion's tail, directly at his head.

He landed flat on his back on the hanger floor, just as the Carol's plane made an increasingly familiar noise.

Another man would have stood, transfixed, and probably would have got himself killed, as the Stealth reformed itself. Angular panels became armour, long, humanoid legs emerged, appearing to "wear" practical, military-like boots, unlike the bird-like legs of that other jetformer, wings folded and jutted out from shoulders, decorative, yet shield-like and functional, the cockpit slid against the back of the head momentarily, before sliding forward, covering the visored, robotic face like ... a ninja? No, more like a fencer's mask, an eerie, faceless look. The fencer motif was complete with the extension of a long, thin, rapier-like sword appearing in one clawed hand, a shorter, bladed pistol-like weapon in the other.

Will Lennox, however, was no ordinary man. He was a US Army Ranger, with probably more combat experience with Decepticons than any other human on Earth. As such, he spared the robot that used to be his friend's plane just a passing glance, trusting Ironhide to take care of it, as he fired his pistol at the scorpion-bot, while getting up and running towards the main base's armoury. He kept professional, focused on his goal, even with the boom of Ironhide's massive cannons going off behind him, the clang of Fencer's sword against the Autobot's armour, and the occasional techno-peppering sound of laser fire from his pistol-blade when his sword evidently was not enough.

Joining the chorus was the base's fire alarm, and a squad of heavily-armed soldiers ran out of the main building, pursuing another blast from the past – the same little silver gremlin that had attacked them at Hoover Dam. The small robot was carrying a pile of papers in its arms, dropping them occasionally and running back to grab them while trying to avoid gunfire from the soldiers. Remarkably, he managed to avoid every bullet, as the hyper little spaz seemed to be moving even faster than it did at Hoover Dam.

Will did not have time to shout a warning to the soldiers before the Scorpion mowed down its ally's pursuers in a barrage of alien machine gun fire.

"Heeheeheeheehee! Get'em, Scorponok! Squishiesgosquish!" He heard the Gremlin cheer.

Will grabbed one of the dead soldier's M-16s, dove behind a jeep for cover, and fired at the little monster. He smirked; the base's soldiers had at least been smart enough to equip their guns with sabot rounds, as one burned through the Gremlin's light leg armour, leaving a satisfying little hole. He knew that would not work for long – already the Scorpion was skittering murderously across the tarmac towards him – but he had to do something to hurt the bastards before he was killed.

Before the Scorpion could reach him, Ironhide dodged away from his struggle against the rapier-wielding Decepticon, and punted the Scorpion across the base like a football. Will's eardrums almost burst from the screech of fury that caused the Fencer to emit.

Ironhide used the distraction to stomp in front of Will. "Ready?" He growled. Unlike the almost-maternal concern the Fencer seemed to show for the Gremlin, trying to keep himself – herself? - between Ironhide and it, Ironhide was not trying to protect Will, at least, not any more than brothers-in-arms normally did. Will appreciated his respect.

"Ready." He answered.

The Fencer did something strange then. She lifted her sword up in front of her faceless mask and down again quickly, a salute to her opponent, before taking an offensive stance. Ironhide reciprocated with a curt nod, before firing his cannon again. As before - judging from the lack of singe marks on the Fencer's armour – she dodged the plasma shot in a fluid, graceful, cat-like motion, fast for a robot with a 60-foot fighter jet as an alt mode, and stabbed at Ironhide's armour, apparently looking for weak spots. However, Ironhide was named as such for a reason. The rapier's tip, even with all the pressure of its master's thrust behind it, just could not penetrate Ironhide's thick, iron hide. The two Cybertronians' fight was a stalemate – the Fencer could not do any real damage to her armoured opponent, and Ironhide was just too slow for his cannon shots to hit the Decepticon. Not that the 'Con would have stood much of a chance if Ironhide _did _manage to hit her, as one cannon-shot went astray and hit one of the Stealths inside the hanger, which violently exploded.

The explosion of her "fellow" Stealth seemed to distract the Fencer for a second, and Will took his chance, jumping out from behind Ironhide and firing sabot rounds into the Fencer's legs. The alien shrieked harshly, but before she fell over, she fired the jet engines on her back, propelling the Decepticon forward in a flying fleché against Ironhide, her rapier stabbing right through one of Ironhide's cannons as she flew past, slashing at Ironhide's head with her pistol-blade as she went. Ironhide roared at the loss of one of his cannons, and fired off the other as the Decepticon half-Transformed in mid-air. He missed again, but singed the Fencer's wingtip as she fully Transformed and the Gremlin scurried up her trailing landing gear.

"Get back here slagger, and fight like an Autobot!" Ironhide roared. His remaining cannon needed a second to warm back up – why he had two of them – and by the time he fired off another shot, the Stealth was no longer in the place he had fired at. It dodged and turned in the air like a giant black crow, even with her landing gear still deployed and in an aerodynamically-difficult shape like that of an F-117's. Will saw her dive down almost to the ground, something, probably the Scorpion, scurry up her landing gear, and once her gear retracted, heard the sonic boom of her accelerating to mach speeds – something a Stealth also should not be able to do.

"Damn it!" He swore himself. "Ironhide, did you contact Optimus?"

"As soon as I suspected that plane was a 'Con." 'Hide growled as they both watched the small black triangle of the Stealth fade into the distance. "He and Ratchet are on their way, for all the good it will do."

Will shared in his friend's frustration, but at least Ironhide had had the courtesy – intentionally or not – to say "that plane" and not "that woman". "And Carol?" He already knew the answer, but he had to ask.

Ironhide still growled, but more softly than before. "I'm sorry, Will. Your friend is dead."

"Yeah," Will sighed, and leaned against Ironhide's leg. "I know … but so is that 'Con."

Ironhide's faceplates broke into a small, gruff smile. "That's my human."

"Oh, shut up, you walking tin can." Will half-heartedly joked, as a familiar flame-decoed Peterbilt and yellow emergency Hummer drove into the base and immediately Transformed.

"Ungrateful hairless ape." Ironhide growled back.

As Ironhide stomped over to his comrades and yelled something at Ratchet in Cybertronian - probably about fixing his precious cannon, knowing 'Hide – Will continued to stare out at the desert horizon for one last second. Just what was that strange, Decepticon Fencer doing here anyway? Why did she – he, it, whatever – kill Carol? He shook his head, and started to walk back to base. He had a feeling that he would have his questions answered soon enough.


	6. Ch 5 Smooth Criminal

**Transformers: Vapour Trails**

By Violetlight

Author's Note: After _quite_ a long hiatus from fanfiction, and writing in general, I'm back! This piece had been sitting on my hard drive, collecting virtual dust, for quite some time. Since before _Revenge of the Fallen_ came out, actually. After that ... "gem" of a movie, I have to admit, my enthusiasm for Transformers kind of went down. A lot. Although I started this chapter as a parody of RotF, I just couldn't really finish it. I was also feeling discouraged by the lack of interest in my story, which I described in my author's note at the beginning of my revamped chapter 1. Plus, I had other things on my mind: I was in the later years of university, which demanded quite a bit of my time, and I started playing a little game called World of Warcraft. Perhaps you've heard of it? :P

Anyway, I saw _Dark of the Moon_ a couple weeks ago. While it wasn't up to the quality of the first movie, it was definitely better than the second, and, more importantly, it got the gears grinding again. I went back to _Vapour Trails_, blew the virtual dust off it, and got back to work. Be assured, however, that my story now takes place in an alternate universe where RoTF and DoTM don't happen, though I may borrow some of the better ideas from those two movies (there were a few. Not many, but a few). Also, I have now graduated from university (yay!), so I have a lot more time on my hands in order to write, while looking for full time employment.

To any loyal readers I might have left, I apologize for the wait, and I hope you enjoy this chapter! To new readers, thanks for reading _Vapour Trails_, and I assure you, the wait for Chapter 6 won't be nearly so long.

Thanks to my fiancé, for always believing in me, even when I didn't, and to my TF writing buddies Lady Tecuma and Litahatchee.

This chapter is rated T for naughty language on the behalf of teenagers and Decepticons, and for the mention (though not the use) of drugs.

Background song: Alien Ant Farm's rendition of "Smooth Criminal", though the Michael Jackson version works as well.

Enjoy!

* * *

Chapter 5: Smooth Criminal

"Do not worry! I, Leader-1, will save the day! Guardian Gobots Go!"

_Primus, this movie sucks_. How long had it been now? About two orns – twelve Earth days – of stalking Bumblebee and the little yellow slagger _still_ had not led Barricade to the Autobot base. Just day after day of the same thing – driving his human pets to and from school, then up to Mission City to be part of the cleanup crew, then back to Tranquility again. The only variation was yesterday, when Bumblebee had led him on a six-hour turbofox chase, just to end up grabbing yet another human youngling in an annoyingly bright and flashy city called "Las Vegas", before coming back again. And now, he had been stuck for an hour and a half on the outskirts of strange though rather convenient human establishment called a "drive-in movie theatre", as Bumblebee's pets were apparently entertained by the explosion-happy melodrama playing on the screen.

"Knowing that little Bee-otch, he probably likes this slag too," Barricade muttered, finding the various human curses Frenzy had learned surprisingly appropriate for describing the one Autobot he hated above all others. "I'm beginning to doubt they have a base at all. They're probably all just parked in some squishy-built garage."

"Bzzt, bzzz, bzzt," was the reply from his back seat.

"A lot of help you are."

"Bzzzzzz."

"At least I can have a somewhat decent conversation with Frenzy." Barricade snapped. He loathed admitting it, but he almost missed his usual partner's constant jabbering on about whatever came to the little silver terror's hyperactive processor. "All you do is buzz. I don't know how your glitch of a master can stand it!"

"Bzzzzzz?"

Barricade just growled to himself and tried unsuccessfully to ignore both the annoying symbiote and the latest round of explosions, bad CGI and even worse acting that graced the screen. He focused his vehicle-mode sensors on the yellow and black-striped Camaro. Here he was, just a few mechanometers away from the infuriating little yellow Autobot, from the slagging pest who had such an annoying way of making him fail at what should be the simplest of missions, like getting a lousy set of lenses off the stupid carbon-based pus sack which was even now polluting Bumblebee's interior with its disgusting presence. Over six billion of the slagging things decorated the surface of an otherwise perfectly good, energy-rich planet, and the only positive things they had ever done was build mediocre, if somewhat useful transport networks and alt mode models, and invent some interesting expletives. He could not decide who he hated more, Bumblebee or his pets.

"You want to know something, bug?" He asked rhetorically.

"Bzzz?"

"It's because of stupid, ugly little organic vermin like these that I was shipped off to Chaar when I was just a sparkling, and my Creator was slagged by the Autobots' idiotic Senate. Best thing Megatron ever did was rip all their pompous, squishy-lovin' sparks out. I just wish I could have been there for the fun."

"Bzzz."

"But we can have some fun now, can't we?"

"Bzz … bzzt?"

Allowing a smirk to cross his holoavatar's lips, Barricade started his engine, the powerful Mustang growl timed with the next on-screen explosion, and started to inch slowly towards the Autobot scout.

It did not take a CPU hacker to figure out what Barricade was thinking. Even to a symbiote of Waspinator's dubious processing power, it must have been obvious, as the insectoid started to flutter around his cab, buzzing his protests at a speed that would make Frenzy jealous.

"You want to meet the Unmaker next?" Barricade hissed.

"… bzzt, bzzz." Waspinator froze, and settled down relatively quietly on the back seat, though his wings still flapped nervously.

"Then mute it." Revenge was long overdue.

* * *

"'Bee, I'm so sorry. I had no idea the movie would be _this_ bad," Sam groaned and laid his forehead against his friend's steering wheel. "Miles has been going on about it since the trailer came out online last year and I just thought, well, it's about robots – well, not real robots like you, but, I don't know, I thought you'd like it."

Beside him in the passenger seat, Mikalea barely looked up from her issue of _Popular Mechanics_, hidden within the pages of _Cosmopolitan. _"You know that's like saying that we'd like _The Littlest Pet Shop_ just because it's got humans in it."

"That's not other half of the double feature, is it?"

"…maybe." Mikalea smiled mischievously, as Sam groaned again and the Camaro's radio switched to a commercial for the aforementioned children's toy.

_The Littlest Pet Shop, That's Who!_

"No, Mikalea, please no. Think of 'Bee! Do you have any idea what that … that girly stuff would do to his mind, or computer, or whatever he has? Bad enough he's been subjected to _that_." Sam pointed at the screen, where the effeminate protagonist and his entirely too-hot girlfriend were being introduced to what looked like some sort of Vespa.

_It's alright, Sam. _Bumblebee's still-scratchy, but clearly English-accented voice sounded quietly over the radio, his calmness a contrast to the next set of explosions to grace the movie screen. _I am honoured that you wanted to include me in your social activities._

"Well, you're my friend, right? I just thought you'd get bored hanging out in my Dad's garage all the time. You know you don't have to do that, right? You can go hang with the other Autobots. There's got to be more room for you with them, for one."

Bumblebee answered using the radio. _My format, Guardian. To Mend and Defend. To defend my newfound friends, their hopes and dreams. To defend them from their enemies._

Mikaela smiled. "I used to love that show."

"Don't mention it to Miles," Sam warned. "He really thinks the inside of his computer's like that."

"Seriously?"

"It's … it's Miles. He says 'warning: incoming game' whenever he starts up Starcraft."

Mikaela looked over the top of her nested magazines, at the chaotic mass of shoulder-length blond hair leaning against Bumblebee's front bumper, and the bright red set of pigtails next to him. "Is that where he met his girlfriend, playing Starcraft?" she asked.

"Nah, he met her on some nerdy internet message board, I think. Writing fan fiction or something like that. I still find it hard to believe he _has_ a girlfriend." Sam said, finding the popcorn fight between Miles and his date far more entertaining than the movie. "I mean, when he said he had a Canadian girlfriend, I thought he had, you know, a _Canadian_ girlfriend – as in, imaginary."

_Ohhhhh! _

_I wish you could meet my girlfriend!_

_My girlfriend who lives in Canada!_

_She couldn't be sweeter,_

_I wish you could meet her,_

_My girlfriend who lives in Canada!_

"Okay Bee, as much as we all like _Avenue Q_, we don't need to hear the rest of _that_ song, right now" Sam complained. "Look, the point is, you've got to have better things to do than babysitting a bunch of humans. You're an Autobot, we've got to be like ants compared to you. We're nothing, nadda, just little specks inhabiting a dirtball planet."

_Optimus Prime does not think so, Sam, and neither do I. _

"Even when I drag you to terrible drive-in movies?"

_Even then._

"You're sure about that? You're not just humouring me?"

_Yes, I'm sure._

"Bee and Optimus really do like you, and no, I'm not dating you because of your car. Now quit being so insecure or I'll make you do one of the 'self-help' quizzes in here." Mikaela said, indicating her cover _Cosmo_.

Sam grinned. "You wouldn't."

"Try me."

In response to the threat, Sam opened Bumblebee's driver side door, and leaned casually out. "Hey Miles, Batman could kick Spiderman's ass anyday!" His grin widened as that comment caused the expected, "no way, bro!" from Miles, and a loud, drawn-out groan from Mikaela.

"Not this again!" she buried her face behind her magazines.

"Boys are idiots; don't worry Mickey. Besides, Catwoman could kick both their butts." Sam heard an increasingly familiar voice from the outside the passenger side window, which was cracked open to allow the drive-in's ancient audio system to fill their eardrums with the occasional bit of dialogue from the movie, between explosions, of course.

"You're just as bad as they are." Mikaela mumbled.

"Yeah, and you're the picture of femininity." A dark-skinned hand reached through the window and grabbed the _Cosmo_, revealing the "forbidden" _Popular Mechanics _underneath. Sam had to keep from laughing, as Mikalea reacted as though the other girl had ripped her clothes off, yelling "Hey!" and blushing beet red.

Miles, on the other hand, made absolutely no effort to keep from laughing. "I knew it! The 'little bunny' isn't quite the bunny after all!" Sam had to duck as Mikaela threw an empty soda cupat Miles, now standing beside the open driver side door, as he used the hated nickname given to her by her ogre of an ex-boyfriend, Trent. "Nice one, Sari!"

"Meh, you didn't have me fooled for a second." The red-haired, pigtailed teenager opened the passenger door and wiggled behind Mikaela into the back seat. "I don't blame you for bringing some reading material, this movie sucks. I was so looking forward to it too!"

"It doesn't suck that bad, I mean, Leader-1 looks awesome! They got the original voice actor and everything!" Miles said, trying unsuccessfully to get behind Sam into the driver's side back seat, spilling half a bag of popcorn as he did so.

Sam felt an annoyed shudder go through Bumblebee's frame. "Dude, I told you, no popcorn in the car!" While Bumblebee did not mind driving Sam and his friends all over half of Nevada, and even tolerated them having a few cups of coffee or soda as long as they didn't spill anything, the yellow Camero had made it _quite_ clear to Sam that he did not want any food in his interior. At all. Clear as in still refusing to let Mojo back in, even weeks after Sam had dropped half a doggy treat and its crumbs on Bumblebee's floor. Sam could not help groaning himself, thinking of the chewing out he was going to get later for those little puffs of popcorn he just knew were lying under his seat now.

It was Sari who unexpectedly came to his rescue. "Pick up your damn popcorn, Miles," She said, "This is way too nice a car to mess up ... that reminds me. How the hell did you get your hands on a brand new Camero anyway? Didn't they just start making them?"

"Ohhh, ohhh, let me tell the story!" Miles interrupted, before Sam could tell her.

"Tell her while you're picking up the popcorn."

"Okay, fine." Miles bent down and started to fish kernels out from under the chair. "You've met Sam's folks, right?"

"Yeah, yesterday after my plane came in, remember? Sam's mom kept going on about how 'cute' my pigtails are," Sari said, and made a face.

"Oh yeah! Anyway – you won't believe this – the feds thought that Sam's parents, of all people, were running a grow-op!"

"What?"

"They thought Sam's mom was like, growin' the wacky tobaccy, was smokin' the -"

"Sam's mom?"

"Yeah."

"No way."

"Way!"

Sam leaned his head against Bumblebee's steering wheel again. Of course, there had to be a cover story to explain to the neighbours just why a million cops had stormed Sam's house looking for "non-biological entities", as Sector Seven had uncreatively called the Cybertronians (Sam preferred Sergeant Epps' nickname for them, "Transformers"). He just wished Miles didn't get such a kick out of telling it.

"Anyway, the cops trashed the whole place, including Sam's old rustbucket (at this, Sam subtly leaned forward and turned down Bumblebee's radio's volume, before he could "comment"), and when it turned out that they _weren't _running a grow-op, Sam's dad threatened to sue the county for everything they'd got. They settled out of court, but part of the deal was the county had to replace Sam's car, with nothing less than another yellow and black-striped Camero."

"His old one was a '72." Mikalea added, finally dropping the "girly" act.

"Yeah. A '72 rustbucket. The thing is, they looked all over the state, and no other used car lots had any yellow Cameroes, or any Cameroes at all. So they actually had to call up GM and order a new one!"

"They do realize how much the new Cameroes go for, right?" Sari asked.

"Cheaper than what Sam's dad would have sued them for. So my bro here," at this, Miles punched Sam's shoulder, "got a sweet new set of wheels because of his mom's 'habit'!"

Sam punched him back. "It's all because of that crazy old cat lady up the street who can't find anything better to do with her retirement than spy on her neighbours. If anyone's smoking anything, it's her." As Miles pretended to roll an imaginary joint of catnip, meowing the whole time, Sam had to smile slightly.

It was times like these he could just pretend he was a normal teenager again. A normal teenager with an awesome car and an even better, unbelievable girlfriend, but normal in that he was not constantly looking up at the night sky, wondering when the Decepticons would come back and rain holy hell on his poor, insignificant dirtball planet. He could not admit it, to Bumblebee or even Mikaela, but he was scared, more than scared, terrified of the day that would happen. Optimus' call to the other Autobots had so far gone unanswered. If Starscream returned first with whatever Decepticon army he had flown off to get, what chance would only four Autobots have?

Sure, Optimus kept saying that humans like him and Major Lennox were the deciding factors, but Sam was not really convinced. Beating Megatron had been a fluke, nothing more – he had spent most of Mission City running for his life and scared out of his tree. The more he thought about it, the more it seemed like the Allspark had thrust _itself_ into Megatron's spark, with his hands just happening to be holding on to it, as if they had been glued in place. Hell, Mikaela had been more useful than he had, at least she had the brains to hook Bee up to that towtruck. No, he wasn't the hero that Optimus thought he was. Why such a wise, valiant creature like Optimus Prime would ever think he was in the first place was something Sam still had trouble believing, that and why Bumblebee would ever _want_ to be his Guardian. If the Autobots absolutely insisted upon a human sidekick, Mikaela, Miles, even Sari would make a far better choice than him.

Sam was interrupted from his musings with the sound of more shrieky girl laughter from Sari. "Hey, check it out! That must be one bored cop!"

"Cop?"

"Yeah, behind us, like a couple parking spaces back. Man, Tranquility's more boring than I thought if the cops have nothing better to do than go to lousy drive-in movies. Or is there a Timmys around here?"

As Miles began to argue that there weren't any "Timmys", whatever they were, in Nevada, only Dunkin' Donuts, Sam glanced in the rear view mirror ... and felt his heart skip a beat. Starring back at him, seemingly right through him, were the same mirrored sunglasses, the round police helmet, the cruel moustache, that he had seen coldly flicker out, right before one of the most terrifying moments of his life. He could still hear the horrifying, gruff, metallic voice, demanding his ebay auction, a little, worthless family heirloom that was the key to so much more ...

_Get ahold of yourself, Sam! Didn't Optimus run him off the road? It couldn't be him. _Sam took a breath, barely noticing the concerned look Mikaela was giving him. It was probably just some bored or off-duty cop, like Sari said.

Then he saw a metallic, insectoid head, like a giant silver fly or wasp, poke out, almost curiously, from behind the cop's seat.

"BUMBLEBEE!" Sam yelled.

Miles' question of "What? Where? In the car?" and Sari's "Dude, it's only a bug, calm down!" were luckily ignored, as door slammed shut (pushing the still popcorn-picking Miles inside), seatbelts clamped down over all four teenagers, and 'Bee immediately sped forward, the wires from the drive-in's sound system ripping out. Good thing he did too, as a explosion erupted from right where the Camero had been parked, one that was definitely not part of the movie.

"Dude, what the hel-oh shit! What is that!" Sam couldn't answer Miles' scream even if he had wanted to, as he saw the now-unmistakable form of the Decepticon shift and convert in the rear view mirror, the bug-bot flying out as his partner transformed, and making a beeline for Bumblebee, its buzzing audible even over the explosions from the movie.

Bumblebee jackknifed just in time, as one of the 'Con-Cop's spinning bladed things landed mere inches from his bumper. _**Hold on!**_ The Autobot's voice sounded more clearly than ever before, commanding even, as he sped towards the drive-in's exit, then up the dirt road leading away from the theatre, with Barricade – transformed back into police car mode – and his new wasp buddy, closely following.

"I know this is going to sound crazy, but just listen for a second! My car's really an alien robot, but a good kind, and that cop car's another, but a bad robot that's trying to kill us!"

"...are you sure your family's not a bunch of junkies?"

"Miles, his car just talked to us, and in case you didn't notice, Sam's not steering!" Sari yelled, and pointed at the steering wheel, which was moving on its own. "If he's stoned, we all are!"

Bumblebee switched to his own, metallic-sounding, native language, as Sam guessed he was calling for backup, but after a couple seconds he went silent. Eeriely silent.

"'Bee, what's wrong?"

_Buzzing .. interference_ ... Bee's voice got more scratchy, before he switched to the radio again. _I can't do that, Dave._

"...oh no." Mikaela's voice sunk. "Bee can't reach the other Autobots!"

"Auto-whats?"

"Later Miles! Let's get out of here!" Sari screeched.

"I think that's what 'Bee's got in mind." Sam unnecessarily said, as the yellow Camaro sped down the dirt road at speeds that would be suicidal for any being to whom driving was equivalent to walking. As fast as Bumblebee was, however, Barricade's blaring sirens were never far behind. Even the metallic wasp was able to keep up, peppering Bumblebee's sides with some sort of laser fire. Between the panicked screams of the Autobot's occupants – himself included – Sam could smell burning not-quite-rubber as the Wasp aimed for Bumblebee's tires.

Bumblebee swerved off the road and into the desert. As sagebrushes crushed under Bee's tires, Sam could barely make out the silhouette of one of the rare clumps of trees able to survive the Mojave Desert's harsh environment – probably California Juniper or Pingyon Pine. Sam had no time to further wonder why random biology facts from grade school would enter his brain at that particular moment, as Bumblebee raced for a barely-car-sized gap between the trees. The Wasp, intent upon his prey, dodged the first few prickly branches, only to slam into the hardy trunk of another tree. There was a metallic clang as some part of him bounced off Bumblebee's back bumper. 'Bee burst triumphantly out of the grove, only to barely avoid skidding to a stop inches away from Barricade's flank, the police car Decepticon having sped around the trees to the other side. The harshness of the stop, mixed with the previous laser fire and the unforgiving Nevada landscape, proved too much for one of Bumblebee's tires. Sam and the others felt the pop, felt Bumblebee sink lower on the flat, just as Barricade transformed again.

_Get out. _The Austrian-accented radio order was more than Sam needed, but as he tried to open the door, he found he couldn't. Barricade's harsh, grinding laughter at the situation did not do much to lessen the sense of panic now surging through Autobot and teenager alike.

"Wouldn't you know, the bug turned out handy after all? Waspinator, I mean. Not you." Barricade evidently thought the situation was funny enough to warrant sharing his thoughts with the humans, speaking in English. "Stuck with those little parasites inside you – disgusting." The Decepticon waved one of his gyroblades, almost casually, pointing the weapon squarely at Bumblebee's windshield. "Well, _you_ know that's no reason for us not to fight. Transform, you little yellow slaghead. You know you want to."

"I ... I can't." Bumblebee managed to squeak out.

"Sure you can. You'll just need a solvent soak after – assuming you survive your well-earned beating. In fact, I'll make sure you do, just so I'll have the pleasure of watching you wash what remains of your pets off you, before your spark joins your vocalizer, that is.

_I won't! _The area around Bumblebee's headlights Transformed into his Stinger cannons, but before he could get a shot off at Barricade, the Decepticon's gyroblades slammed down, slicing through the weapon's barrels.

Barricade wagged one clawed finger at Bumblebee, before ripping into Bumblebee's hood with thehis other set of claws. _Suit yourself_, he growled, between Bumblebee's first agonized screams. The Decepticon was clearly enjoying torturing his prey, slowly rending tears in Bumblebee's hood and sides with his claws. "Maybe I'll rip open your roof next ... make you watch as I crush your pets myself. One. By. One." He dragged a claw along 'Bee's roof with each punctuation, then pointed his claws downwards, through the relatively thin skin of the roof, coming less than an inch away from stabbing the teens in the head.

"'Bee, this isn't worth it! _We're not worth it!_" Sam shouted.

"Don't listen! Of course I'm worth it!" Yelled Miles.

"Sam! What are you saying!" Sari said, her panic barely contained.

"The world needs the Autobots, they don't need us!" Sam yelled. "If Bee Transforms, we're crushed, but if he doesn't we're dead anyway and he's dead too!"

Slowly, Mikaela nodded. "He's right. You can take this asshole, 'Bee, you've done it before. Forget us."

_**NO! **_Bumblebee's resolute shout was louder than any of the screeches of pain Barricade had been able to get out of him. The driver's side door began to shake, the screech of metal tearing grinding on the humans' ears, as the door popped open violently, tearing off its hinges. Sam's mouth gaped open. The Autobot had torn a piece off his own body for the humans to escape!

Managing to push his amazement aside, Sam jumped through the opening where 'Bee's door used to be, the other teens following. Seconds afterwards, he heard the familiar sound of Bumblebee's Transformation.

Bumblebee looked like hell. Several large gashes were carved in his recognizably car-derived parts, especially the arm plating where his hood would be in car-mode, with a glowing, purplish fluid bleeding from the wounds. Only one of the wing-like car doors stuck out behind him – the other lying in the dirt nearby - and its edges were jagged and torn from his Transformation forcefully breaking Waspinator's welding. He staggered, almost fell, before rising determinedly to his full height, his insect-like battle mask slamming down over his usually gentle, blue eyes.

"That's more like it!" Barricade shouted. He dove towards the Autobot for a hand-to-hand outright brawl, as the now-forgotten humans ran to the relative safety of the trees.

"Here Sam!" Sari rummaged through her pockets, and threw her cell phone to him. "You said there's more of these guys, call them!"

Sam had already dialled by the time she finished that sentence. "Optimus! Optimus!" he yelled into the phone, but the line was dead.

"That bug's buzzing must have somehow fried our cell phones, along with 'Bee's communications." Mikaela stated the obvious.

Sam felt even more helpless than he did at Mission City, as he heard Bee's screams, a splash of that purplish fluid landing just a few feet away from the grove. "We have to do something."

"Like what! In case you didn't notice two giant fighting robots are trying to kill each other over there!" Miles yelled. "We can't do sh-"

"'Bee wasn't going to leave us to die, and I won't leave him either!" Sam picked up a rock from the desert floor. "Mikaela, get Sari and Miles out of here. I'm going to help."

"You _can't_ help, man!" Miles screamed.

"I'm sick of running." Turning only to make sure his friends were, in fact, running away – Mikaela and Sari were pulling a screaming Miles by his arms – Sam threw the rock as hard as he could at Barricade. It bounced harmlessly off his armour, but the impact was enough to make the Decepticon turn his head in surprise, giving Bumblebee an opening to punch him.

The Decepticon roared in rage and backhanded Bumblebee, hard, sending him flying backwards. In only a couple steps he had stalked over and scooped Sam up in his clawed hands. Sam screamed as the 'Con squeezed him, at the sharp pain as he felt more than a few ribs crack under the pressure.

"Brave, but stupid. Very stupid." Sam felt Barricade's clawed thumb under his neck, ready to flick off his head, he heard Bumblebee's anguished cry. "Say goodbye to your pet, Autobot!" In a second that felt like an eternity, he felt Barricade's thumb claw start to dig into his neck ...

Only for the Decepticon to suddenly lose his balance, as a neon greenish-yellow, H2 emergency Hummer barrelled right into the Decepticon's legs. Sam was thrown towards the ground, but caught by Bumblebee as the Autobot dived like a baseball player sliding into home.

A very angry Ratchet let loose a string of Cybertronian that Sam knew just could not be polite at the Decepticon he had just slammed about fifty feet backwards. Barricade, knowing when he was outgunned, Transformed back into his police car mode and sped away, leaving behind one of his gyroblades, an injured little yellow Autobot and his human, and a seriously pissed off Autobot medic.

Ratchet looked at Bumblebee's door, lying in the dirt near the trees, at the yellow Autobot, and at the laboriously breathing human teenager. "You stupid slaggers, both of you!"

Sam would have laughed, but his chest hurt too much. "Nice to see you too." He did manage to smile as he saw a familiar blue-with-red-flames Peterbilt roll up, his friends safely inside the cab, and a black pickup truck leading a small group of military vehicles, a real ambulance thankfully among them. The pickup tore off from the group in the direction in which the cop car Decepticon had hightailed, and Sam very much hoped Barricade soon became _quite_ acquainted with Ironhide's cannons.

"Sam ... why?" It was all Bumblebee could say before his damaged vocalizer gave out from the stress.

"'Cause you're my friend." Sam answered, as the military medics loaded him into the ambulance. He laughed softly, despite the pain. "This guardian thing works both ways."

Bumblebee's mask slid up, and sky-blue eyes, optics, whatever, starred into Sam's. Sam still wondered just how useful he was to the Autobots, but Bumblebee evidently thought he was worth dying for. Not just because he was a tool in order to get some magical artifact, but because he was a friend, a real friend. As long as the Autobots were on Earth, Sam knew they would need some human help, probably from people like Lennox, people more capable than he was, but it was reassuring to know that they wanted human friendship as well. The Autobots weren't like the Decepticons – they didn't see humans as pests, as vermin to get rid of, and Sam suspected they didn't quite see them as pets either, at least Bumblebee didn't. Sam just knew that, whatever happened, Bumblebee was really, truly his friend, just because he wanted to be. Sam would do whatever it took to prove himself worthy of that friendship, though maybe today, he already had.


End file.
